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GEORGE AUSTIN 


BY 

MKS. JAMES HINE. 




PHILADELPHIA : 

AMEKICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, 
1420 Chestnut Street. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1885, by the 
AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




'■Mv: 




V' 


4 


)■ 

CONTENTS. 


CHAFFER I. 

A Baptismal Scene. 7 

CHAPTER IL 

Henry Witherspoon’s Views 12 

CHAPTER III. 

George at the Gay Party 20 

CHAPTER IV. 

George’s Troubled Mind 29 

CHAPTER V. 

George Leaves the Church 37 

CHAPTER VI. 

How it Fared with George 44 


3 


4 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

CHAPTEE. Vn. 

George Goes to the City 54 

CHAPTER Vin. 

George’s Life in the City 63 

CHAPTER IX. 

George Visits Miss Bertha Reese 70 

CHAPTER X. 

Grace Finds Mrs. Woodbury Suffering... 75 

CHAPTER XI. 

Mr. Witherspoon’s Decision 83 

CHAPTER Xn. 

A Sad Evening 94 

CHAPTER Xin. 

Breaking Up the Old Home 105 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Death of Mr. Witherspoon 117 

CHAPTER XV. 

Grace Opens Her School 133 


CONTENTS. 


5 


PAGE. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Mrs. Austin’s Letter to George 145 

CHAPTER XYII. 

Henry’s New House 160 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Annie Woodford and Her Father 170 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Plans of Henry and Emily 186 

CHAPTER XX. 

Preparations for the Future 201 

CHAPTER XXL 

Marriage of Henry and EmuY 206 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Grace Meets George in New York 216 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

A Lord’s Day in New York 225 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

A Fearful Accident 236 


6 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Weary Watchings 249 

CHAPTER XXYL 

Mr. and Mrs. Austin Arrive in New York 259 

CHAPTER XXVIL 

George Resolves to Leave The City 269 

CHAPTER XXYIII. 

A Great Surprise for Grace 278 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


CHAPTER 1. 

A BAPTISMAL SCENE. 

/^UR story opens on a bright, clear morning in the 
^ early winter ; the first severely cold morning of 
the season. A storm of sleet the day before had 
clothed everything exposed to its rigor with a sheath 
of ice. The house tops glittered as if they were one 
vast sheet of glass ; while the eaves of every building 
were ornamented with the beautiful, brilliant icicles, 
which had formed in many sizes and shapes. The 
pavements were no less slippery, with the element so 
brittle when congealed. Now and then before the 
door of a dwelling, some thrifty housewife, with a 
heart full of true Christian benevolence, had taken 
pity on the passers-by and sprinkled her sidewalk 
with ashes, to enable those who were obliged to be 
out to maintain with more ease the perpendicular. 

On this keen, frosty Lord^s Day morning, a little 
band of worshipers, headed by their pastor, might 

7 


8 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


have been seen wending their way towards one of the 
small lakes, in the western part of the State of New 
York, to obey the high behest of him who trod the 
winepress of the Father’s wrath alone; whose re- 
peated injunction to his people was; ^^If ye love me, 
keep my commandments.” 

This was in 1817, and all this part of the country 
was then more or less a frontier country. Services at 
the house of God were infrequent. The faithful pas- 
tor often traveled many a weary mile to meet his 
flock. His regular appointments were monthly ; but 
sometimes two and three months elapsed without his 
being able to fill them. Often the roads were im- 
passable from the heavy snows, and again by swollen 
streams, not then as now bridged on every public 
road; indeed, what were then called public roads 
would be considered by-ways now, so few were there 
to tread them. His coming had been anxiously 
looked for this time, for there were several candidates 
awaiting baptism. 

As the group walked on from their rustic church 
edifice to the water-side, one by one the villagers 
quietly opened their doors, and almost every house- 
hold sent forth of its numbers, some more, some less, 
to join the reverent assemblage, and go with them to 
witness the sacred ordinance. Many a village gossip 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


9 


wondered that they should select such a day for the 
baptism. 

‘^They will surely catch their deaths of cold.’^ 
Rather they than I.” Such and similar excla- 
mations were whispered from one to another. 

As they approached the forest, the traces of the 
storm, which had seemed so pitiless the day before 
when it was descending, were still more beautiful 
than in the village. Every branch and bough and 
twig and spray of the leafless trees was sparkling with 
its icy garniture, the interlacing twigs, each distinctly 
marked, gracefully bending under their new and un- 
usual load. The evergreens were even more strik- 
ingly attractive than the denuded trees; every leaflet 
of pine and cedar, clad in its shield of ice, stood stiff 
and shining, like millions of bayonets, ready to pierce 
on every side. The broom straw and sedge, of every 
description, with which the earth was carpeted on 
either side of the winding path, was such as might 
almost in imagination have been compared to the sea 
of glass depicted by the holy saint of Patmos. 

Slippery as the walking was, and keen the cold, yet 
many a voice joined in the song of praise, as they 
walked on towards those baptismal waters. That was 
no gushing, gurgling stream, for it was ice-bound. 
Men had been busy with their axes chopping out a 


10 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


place sufficiently large to serve the purpose of a pool ; 
and the large blocks of ice were piled about the 
opening which they had made, and the congregation 
gathered around, fearlessly standing behind and upon 
them, that they might witness the ordinance. A few 
passages of Scripture were repeated bearing upon the 
rite, a short but fervent prayer offered, and the aged 
man of God walked out into the water, accompanied 
by two young men who were just treading the verge 
of opening manhood. 

George Austin and Henry Witherspoon had been 
friends from their earliest childhood. They had been 
classmates at school ; had shared in the amusements 
of a common playground ; had together sought the 
sports of the woods on their holidays ; in short — 

With but a step 

Between their several homes ; twins had they been 
In pleasure ; and strangers to content if long apart. 

Now still side by side they were together, going, as 
their Lord had commanded, to be buried with Christ 
in baptism. 

George first received the solemn ordinance; the 
name of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, was pro- 
nounced upon him, and he arose from the translucent 
stream and stood with a soul filled with the peace 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


11 


which passeth all understanding,” while his friend 
submitted to the same holy rite. Then, arm in arm, 
they breasted those cleaving waters, and took their 
places on the shore, their clear, musical voices sending 
forth a glad song of praise, which echoed and re- 
echoed over that ice-bound lake. 

There were two other candidates for the ordinance. 
One of them, and the last to go forward, was Emily 
Gordon, a fair young girl, who had but just entered 
her teens. She had been awaiting baptism for more 
than twelve months. Her parents had objected at 
first to her going forward, on account of her extreme 
youth. They feared she did not understand the 
nature of the obligation which she desired to assume ; 
but the unmistakable evidence of a living, growing 
piety which she exhibited in her daily life, convinced 
them that there was in her heart a radical work of 
grace ; and as soon as they became assured that she 
was a stone polished and fit for the builders’ use, they 
were not only willing, but glad, to see her take her 
place in the church of Christ. 

As the pastor led out her young, fragile form, he 
said : 

Earth holds no sight more beautiful than the 
flower of youth bending to the Sun of righteousness.” 


CHAPTER II. 


HENRY Witherspoon’s views. 

ANY months passed on, and George Austin and 
Henry Witherspoon exhibited a Christian 
walk and conversation which reflected credit upon 
themselves, were gratifying to their fellow members, 
and an honor to the church whose living epistles they 
were. 

When their church was open for worship, they 
were ever in their accustomed seats. They were con- 
stant at the prayer-meeting, and ever ready to lend 
their services to the devotions of the hour. George 
had embraced the profession of the law, for which he 
had long been preparing, and entered upon its duties 
with a fair prospect of success. Henry had been taken 
as a partner into his father’s store; himself and a sister 
Grace, who was ardently attached to him, were the only 
children of the house; while George was the eldest 
of his father’s family, and was surrounded by a bevy 
of young brothers and sisters. None of them, how- 
ever, were near enough to his own age for him to find 

companions in them, as death had claimed the two 
12 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


13 


who were next younger than himself. Emily Gor- 
don, though a child in years, was growing in grace 
and in the knowledge and love of Jesus; and the 
beautiful simplicity of her Christian character at- 
tracted all hearts to her. 

On an evening in autumn, nearly a year after our 
young friends had joined the church, Henry was 
seated by the stove in the back room of his store, 
when one of his young friends, Philip Wharton, 
entered, and seated himself beside him. He had 
evidently something to say, and exclaimed : 

You don’t know, Henry, how much fun you and 
George Austin lost by not going with us to the dance 
last night. We had a splendid fiddler, and a grand 
old time, I tell you. There were six sleigh loads of 
us, and we danced till two o’clock before we stopped 
for supper. Dick Holt gave us just one of the best 
suppers ever got up at his tavern. We had to try it 
again after supper, and danced until almost daylight 
before we started back. It was broad sunrise when 
we drove into town ; and we came kiting, I tell you. 
We missed you and George so much, and spoke of 
you many times. You were both with us at our first 
frolic last fall, and now you have grown so religious 
that you think it a sin to enjoy yourselves any more.” 

^^Oh, no, Phil! you are mistaken there. We think 


14 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


it no sin to enjoy ourselves; but our feelings have 
changed since then, and also the nature of our enjoy- 
ments. We have tasted pleasures so much richer, 
that such amusements as you have been describing 
seem vapid and senseless to us, compared with the 
higher enjoyments which we find in the service of 
God and communion with him.” 

^‘You surely do not mean to say that you would 
find no pleasure in dancing with a pretty girl, and 
then packing her into a sleigh with half a dozen 
others as lively and merry as herself, and tucking 
them all up nicely in the buffaloes, and then listening 
to their tongues as they try to outdo the music of the 
sleigh bells.” 

I am not dead to social enjoyments, Phil. They 
are beautiful to me as they ever were ; but I would 
prefer them under another phase from that which 
you represent so glowingly. 

I was at singing school last night, and we had a 
bevy of fair girls there, and the music was enough to 
lift the soul above this world and its transitory enjoy- 
ments. I wish you could have heard Emily Gor- 
don’s alto in the new anthem we are learning. Rich 
and mellow, it gave such pathos to the words, that 
one might almost have fancied himself wafted to 
etliereal spheres and listening to celestial strains.” 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


15 


^^But how is it about dancing, Henry? You used 
to love it so dearly, and now you never go to a 
dancing party. Is it because you are afraid you will 
get old Deacon Whiting about your ears ? I should 
never let him, or any other old curmudgeon, dictate 
to me what I might do, or what I might not. 
Henry Weston goes to all the balls and parties and 
dances just when he pleases, and he has joined the 
church too; but then he belongs to the Episcopal 
Church. That would be the church I would join if 
I was going to join any, and not put myself under 
the control of a committee of deacons, or anybody 
else, to be managed by them according to their 
notions.^^ 

The Episcopal Church has its rules for the gov- 
ernment of its members as well as ours; and if one 
differs from the other in its internal polity, it only 
amounts to a difference of opinion as to what one or 
the other may deem gospel rules and gospel ordi- 
nances. If the only object sought in joining a church 
be to enter the one which allows the largest latitude 
in the indulgence of worldly pleasures, one might 
well question his fitness to join at all.” 

‘^Yet you claim to find more pleasure in the 
church than I do out of it.” 

Still, I did not join it as a matter of pleasure, 


16 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


but of solemn duty. I felt myself a sinner in the 
sight of God. I sought the pardon of my sins. My 
Bible taught me that there was no remission of sin 
but through the blood of the Crucified; that if I 
would have this blood applied to the cleansing of my 
guilty soul, I must believe in Jesus, accept him as 
my Saviour, follow in his footsteps, and obey his 
commandments. 

He constituted a church on earth, and appointed 
a method by which his disciples should enter it, even 
baptism, and established in it the ordinance of the 
Lord’s Supper, telling his people to observe it in re- 
membrance of him, through all future time until he 
should come again. He requires it of those who love 
him and accept him thus to declare and honor him ; 
and when the question arose in my mind as to which 
church I should connect myself with, I sought entrance 
into the one which, in my judgment, obeyed most 
literally the teachings of the written word. I have 
not submitted myself to a committee of deacons, or to 
rules made by any body of men, as you suppose, but 
to the requirements of the Lord as made known in 
the Bible, and carried out by the church. I sub- 
mitted myself to them with a full knowledge of what 
I was doing, and with an honest determination to 
obey them. Obedience to them may accord with my 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


17 


pleasure, or may conflict with it; my duty in the 
matter is not aflected either way.” 

‘^And does your church allow you to dance?” 
am not aware that it has any rule which for- 
bids it.” 

‘^Why, then, do you hold yourself so aloof from 
parties and frolics ? ” 

Because I can spend my leisure time more agree- 
ably to myself, and more profitably as well. My 
tastes have changed ; they have been purified, I trust, 
by the grace of God ; and many things in which I 
once found pleasure please me no longer. Even if 
this were not so, I entertain the same views which are 
held by a large number in all churches, that promis- 
cuous dancing, late hours, and gay and fashionable 
parties, are at war with the spirit of Christianity, and 
have a tendency to destroy in the heart its life and 
power. If we look closely at the lives of those who 
are devotees of such pleasures, we shall see that these 
amusements are at variance as well with the spirit 
of self-improvement which all ought to cultivate 
whether they are Christians or not. Such persons 
seem too often to liave no higher aim in life than to 
dress and dance ; to see and to be seen. Such ^vere 
not the motives which governed him who was our 
divine example. The great end of his earthly exist- 


18 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


ence was to do his Father’s will, and benefit the 
human race. He has left us the written record of his 
life that we may follow in his steps. I want to make 
it the aim of my life, as far as in me lies, to do it.” 

^^Well, I see you are incorrigible, Henry. Jane 
Storrs sent me to get you and George Austin to at- 
tend her birth-night party, which is to come off on 
Thursday evening. I told her I would do my best, 
but had little hopes of succeeding. If I had not 
much when I came, I have still less now ; but I wish 
you would go, Henry. You and George used to be 
the life of our parties, and we don’t know how to 
spare you.” 

Thursday night is our prayer-meeting evening. 
I could not possibly leave that, if I had no other 
reason for declining.” 

Mr. Wharton left him, and went around to George 
Austin’s office on the same errand. George was less 
sedate in his disposition than his friend. Quick and 
impulsive, his sunny nature was ever ready to seize 
upon anything in the shape of fun and harmless 
frolic. When he received Miss Storr’s invitation, his 
first impulse was a desire to go ; but immediately he 
remembered that it was prayer-meeting night, and he 
felt that he had no right to neglect a sacred duty for 
a matter of personal gratification, and he said : 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


19 


wish it was some other evening, but I cannot 
neglect the prayer-meeting. Perhaps, though, I 
might go after meeting. What hour do the invita- 
tions call for ? ” 

Seven o’clock ; but then an hour or two later 
would make no difference. What time does your 
meeting close ? ” 

Soon after eight ; and you may tell Miss Storrs, 
if she will pardon a late arrival, I will do myself the 
pleasure of attending.” 


CHAPTER III. 

GEOEGE AT THE GAY PARTY. 

rpHURSDAY eveniDg came, and Henry and 
George met as usual at the prayer-meeting. 
The services were unusually interesting, and were 
protracted to a later hour than common. At their 
close, George stopped not for the usual friendly chat 
with Henry. He did but bid him good-evening, and 
said: 

I do not go your way to-night. I am going up 
street.” 

He did not like to tell him where he was going, 
for he could not altogether banish his scruples about 
the propriety of turning from a spot so consecrated 
by the Spirit’s presence as their place of meeting had 
been that night, to enter upon such hilarious festivi- 
ties as he knew would fill the dwelling towards which 
his steps were tending. 

“ If I were to tell Henry, the reproof which would 
look out from his grave eyes would haunt me all the 
evening, and take away my anticipated enjoyment.” 

20 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


21 


On reaching the home of Mr. Storrs, his name was 
announced, and he entered the brilliant mansion and 
walked up to pay his court to Miss Storrs with the 
gay and careless ease so natural to him. Many a 
whispered word of admiration followed him ; and his 
old companions hailed with pleasure his appearance 
once more in the halls of fashion where he had 
whilom been a petted guest. 

His fair hostess gave him cheery greeting. She 
said : 

As Mr. Austin is a new-comer, perhaps he is yet 
to be informed that we have been crowned queen of 
this joyous company ; that these dominions are sub- 
ject to our sway, and our royal will ordains that all 
here this night shall swear fealty to the goddess of 
amusement, and each one lend his powers to promote 
her ends. For himself, by virtue of the prerogative 
vested in us, we dub him knight, in token of which 
we command him to kneel and receive our hand.’^ 

He bowed with consummate grace to receive the 
hand so playfully offered, and raised it respectfully to 
his lips. Blushing, she hastily withdrew it, saying : 

Arise, Sir George, and take your station about 
our person, where we command you to remain with 
these our loyal knights and true, until the strains of 
music shall summon ye to the dancers’ hall, and on 


22 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


the morrow our royal armorer shall supply you with 
the spurs which are the guerdon of faithful service.’^ 

George was quick with the ready nothings which 
constitute conversation in such scenes as this, and 
bore well his part as royal courtier to so gay a queen. 
After awhile, the strains of the violin in a distant 
hall set many feet in motion, and in a few moments 
the parlor was almost vacated. 

Miss Storrs, dismissing her mimic court, had led 
the way, leaning on the arm of Philip Wharton, with 
w'hom she was to open the dance, after announcing to 
such as did not care to dance, that card tables had 
been prepared in the library. 

“ You do not seem disposed to dance,” a young 
man said to George. What say you to a game of 
whist.” 

‘^Agreed.” The party was soon made up, and 
deep in the mysteries of the game. They played on, 
growing more and more excited, until they were sum- 
moned to the supper table. They renewed their play 
with fresh interest after leaving the banquet ; nor did 
they realize how the time was passing, until they 
found the crowd were departing, and they were 
among the last who were left. 

George went on his homeward way, and entered 
the house as noiselessly as possible and sought his 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


23 


room. He laid his head on a prayerless bed that 
night, or rather morning, for it was nearly daylight. 
He was in no mood for prayer, for he felt self-con- 
demned for the manner in which he had passed the 
night. He had not only wasted many precious 
hours, but, worse than this, he had allowed his 
temper to get the better of him at his ill-luck, as he 
termed it, and was dissatisfied and fretted at not 
having retrieved himself. 

Mr. Austin, who had been kept from the prayer- 
meeting the night before by business, did not return 
home until the evening was nearly spent. He sat 
with his slippered feet upon the fender until some 
time past nine o’clock, the hour for family devotions. 
His daughter Alice had placed the stand beside him, 
with the Bible resting upon it, and the evening lamp 
burning brightly beside it, some time previous. 

At length his wdfe said to him : 

My dear, is it not time to have prayers? The 
children are getting sleepy.” 

I am w aiting for George,” he said. What can 
keep him out so late to-night?” 

« Why, I thought you knew that he had gone to 
the party at Mrs. Storrs.” 

‘‘ I parted with him at the church door on our way 
down town after supper.” 


24 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


‘^Yes. He went first to prayer-meeting, and was 
to go from there to the party.” 

A strange contrast, it seems to me, between the 
two,” said the father, and proceeded with the cus- 
tomary services of the house. 

When the hymn of praise went up, in which those 
young voices joined, they missed the clear, full bass 
which George was wont to lend to their evening song, 
and the little ones went off to their quiet slumber 
without the usual good-night kiss from their eldest 
brother. 

The next morning, at the breakfast table, Mrs. 
Austin said : 

How did you enjoy the party last night, my 
son?” 

“I scarcely know how to answer you,” was his 
reply. 

Tell us, rather,” his father said, where you 
found the most enjoyment, whether at the prayer- 
meeting or the party.” 

To be frank, I found enjoyment in neither. I 
was impatient for the meeting to close, and was 
hoping every prayer would be the last, as I was 
anxious to get away that I might fulfill the other 
engagement. When the meeting was over, and I at 
length reached the gay assemblage at Mr. Storrs, I at 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


25 


first entered into the spirit of the hour with great de- 
light; but soon the crowd separated; some went to 
the dancers’ hall, and others to the card table. I 
joined the latter group, and played all night, with 
the worst luck I ever had in my life. This, of 
course, gave me no pleasure. On the contrary, I was 
irritated and angry, and gave way to my temper on 
several occasions in a manner quite unbecoming in a 
gentleman, let alone a Christian; and I have been 
thoroughly ashamed of myself ever since.” 

Why do you claim to have had bad luck, George? 
I thought we discussed that matter thoroughly the 
other day, and came to the conclusion that there was 
no such thing as luck.” 

‘^We concluded, father, that all things Avere to be 
referred to an overruling Providence. Would it be 
proper to attribute my ill — ^success, shall I call it, as 
you will not admit it was luck — to Providence?” 

Ask yourself that question, my son ; for you can 
answer it better than I — whether you think the gay 
crowd in which you found yourself, and the amuse- 
ment in which you were engaged, were such as would 
have given pleasure to your Lord. You must not 
suppose that he was present there to deal out your 
cards. There are other agencies at work on earth 
that are neither divine nor human. We are told 


26 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


in the Holy Book of an unquiet spirit, going to and 
fro in the earth and walking up and down therein. 
It is represented to us as a roaring lion going about 
seeking whom it may devour. It was by divine per- 
mission suffered to visit Job, and deal out to him such 
heavy blows as well-nigh distracted him. Nor was 
the spotless Saviour wholly exempted from his super- 
human wiles. We are told that he led him up into 
an high mountain, and showed him all the kingdoms 
of the world and the glories of them ; and with his 
lying tongue he claimed them as his own, and offered 
them to Jesus, if he would but fall down and worship 
him. It is, in my judgment, more reasonable to sup- 
pose that this was the spirit which presided over the 
occupation in which you were engaged, and his the 
power which produced the combinations that led you 
to give way to evil temper; and no doubt it was 
gratifying to him, evil spirit that he is, to see you 
thus far dishonor your Lord.’’ 

Surely, father, you do not think I disgraced my 
religious profession last night.” 

You must settle that question with your own con- 
science, my son. I only judge you by what you have 
told me ; and from your own account of yourself, I 
certainly think you did. You know I have strong 
objections to card playing. Cards are instruments 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


27 


that Satan wields well in demoralizing the world. It 
is claimed that they are sometimes harmless, because 
they are sometimes used for amusement only ; but 
even then, how often, as in your case, do they gener- 
ate evil passions ! This harmless use of them, so 
called, is apparently the exception, not the rule. 
Probably, in nine cases out of ten, the persistent use 
of them leads to gambling, and cheating, and kindred 
vices. I have often been told when speaking of this 
sin, that I would be sure to have a son become a 
gambler. God forbid that I ever should ! But if 
such a calamity should fall upon my house, it will 
not be in his power to say, ^ I learned to play from 
my parents, or in my father’s house.’ In seeking 
amusements for my children and purchasing games 
for them, I have tried to introduce them to such as 
were harmless ; and if any of them should fall into 
this vice, I shall, at least, have the satisfaction left 
me of knowing that I had no agency, near nor re- 
mote, in producing the result.” 

George had unbounded confidence in his father, 
and he felt more than ever condemned for having 
done what was so reprehensible in his eyes. He left 
the breakfast table musing, and saying to himself: 

^^Why could I not have gone to the party, and, 
after spending a few hours in social enjoyment, re- 


28 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


turned, like a reasonable man, to my home, without 
suffering myself to be drawn into such a frivolous, if 
not dangerous amusement, which cost me the loss of 
my temper, as well as the loss of time, which might 
have been much more profitably spent ? 


CHAPTER IV. 

George’s troubled mind. 

A T the period of which we write, the line of dis- 
tinction between the church and the world was 
much more clearly defined than now. A Christian 
profession involved a separation from the world in a 
sense which is scarcely expected in our day. It has 
become, to a certain degree, fashionable in these days 
to become religious. The church, perhaps too anxious 
to enfold in her sheltering arms the perishing of 
earth, in her zeal to multiply converts, and to extend 
the kingdom of Christ, receives many into her bosom 
who cannot stand the searching text; ^Hf any man 
love the world, the love of the Father is not in him.” 
It is matter of question in this charitable policy if she 
has not lost in influence, as a spiritual body, what she 
has gained in numbers. A spirit of worldliness has 
crept into her counsels, and her people are, in a meas- 
ure, deaf to the command: ^^Be not conformed to 
this world.” 

The news that George Austin had attended a 

fashionable party, that he had played cards all night, 

29 


30 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


and been the gayest among the gay, spread like wild- 
fire through the village. The old members of the 
church shook their heads in dismay. He had, up to 
this time, been so consistent — he was deemed so pious. 
Ought he not to be dealt with? But how to do 
it ? — that was the question. He had broken no rule 
of the church, but he had wounded the feelings of 
many of the members by his conduct ; they had ex- 
pected better things of him. He was the jest of 
scoffers as well. 

“ I would not give much for his piety, if he is so 
easily led away by frolic and fashion,” said one. 

It is always the way with these very religious 
people ; they never do hold out,” said another. 

These, and kindred words, were in the mouths of 
many. 

George could not help hearing more or less of this 
talk; and he winced under it as censure which he 
knew he deserved, for he was well aware that his act 
had been a grief to the church into whose communion 
he had entered, and whose obligations and require- 
ments he had pledged himself to keep. 

He dreaded to meet his friend Henry Wither- 
spoon ; -for he knew that his stern sense of religious 
duty would be shocked at his course, and that, with 
the faithfulness of a friend, he would not hesitate to 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


31 


rebuke him. And then Henry’s sister Grace; what 
would she say ? Grace was younger than George in 
years, but she was an older Christian, having joined 
the church before he did. She had been the beau- 
ideal of his boyhood ; and now, that he had become a 
man, the strongest affections of his being had centred 
on her, and he hoped one day to call her his wife. 
He had only deferred asking her the important ques- 
tion until he should see some demonstration on her 
part wdiich would give him reason to hope that she 
regarded him favorably ; and now, what would his 
chance be? He well knew that her pious heart 
would be shocked w^hen she heard of him up all night 
at the card table. He went on to his office moody 
and sad. He had not been there long when some of 
his young acquaintances dropped in who had shared 
with him the festivities of the evening before. 
Henry Weston, who had been his vis-a-vis at the 
whist table, said : 

declare, George, we must have satisfaction of 
those boys who beat us so badly. Let us appoint an 
evening to try our luck again. When and where 
shall it be? Suppose we say to-night, and here.” 

Not to-night,” George replied. I shall want to 
make up my lost sleep. I expect to go to bed by 
dark.” 


32 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


‘^What! you can’t stand a single night’s dissipa- 
tion ? Why, you used to play cards with us two or 
three nights in a week, and never minded it at all; 
but since you have become so steady, I suppose it is 
different.” 

One of the young men that came to see him ban- 
tered him about having violated the rules of his 
church. He said: 

^Hjook out, George; they are going to haul you 
over the coals about card playing and dancing. 
Deacon Whiting and old man Smith were questioning 
me about the matter this morning, and asked me if 
you danced as well as played cards. I thought I 
would have a little fun out of the old fellows, and I 
told them I believed you did, but could not say for 
certain.” 

‘‘Why, you knew better,” George said. “You 
were with me the whole evening, and you knew I 
never went into the dancing hall.” 

“Oh, I was just in fun. I will tell them better 
next time I see them.” As he turned to leave, he 
said: “Well, shall we make up that whist party for 
to-morrow night?” 

“What, Saturday?” 

“Sure enough. Well, say Monday then,” and he 
departed. 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


33 


Once more alone, George felt sadder than ever, as 
he realized what an unpleasant position he had placed 
himself in. His conduct had rendered him liable to 
censure, he knew. Some of the members of the 
church would be grieved with him. Some, whose 
good opinion he valued, would look upon him coldly. 
He knew his father was displeased with his act, 
though he had not said so in so many words ; and his 
good mother, who had so often warned him of the 
dangers of the card table. But now he was getting 
deeper into the difficulty. Harry Weston expected 
him to try it again, that they might have an opportu- 
nity of getting satisfaction from those who had beaten 
them, and to refuse him would be unmanly. More- 
over, although he did not like to acknowledge it even 
to himself, his own inclinations corresponded with 
Harry’s request. 

In the course of the day, his friend, Henry 
Witherspoon, came into his office. He had a long 
and earnest conversation with George. In Christian 
faithfulness he placed before him the inconsistency of 
his act, and told him that he thought the church 
would take some action on the subject ; indeed, some 
of the leading members had told him that they could 
not think of passing it over. 

^^You do not suppose they will exclude me,” said 
B 


34 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


George. ^‘1 would rather be dead, than turned out 
of a church.’^ 

‘^For one, I shall use what influence I have in 
your favor; but I tell you candidly, George, that, 
dear as you are to me, the honor of my Saviour, and 
the welfare of his church, are dearer ; and if I did not 
hope and believe that you would be more circumspect 
in future, I, too, should advocate a stringent course. 
You know how you were led away by this very 
amusement two years ago, until it came near proving 
your ruin. Many thought you had given yourself 
up irretrievably to gaming ; and but for the inflexible 
resolution with which you turned from it then, you 
might, by this time, have been a ruined man.’^ 

But I did not gamble last night, Henry. I only 
played a social game. I cannot see how I have done 
so culpably wrong.^’ 

^^You entered the vestibule; another step would 
throw you into the inner court. We are to avoid 
even the appearance of evil.’’ 

As the evening wore on, and the gray twilight 
commenced deepening into denser shades, the two 
friends separated, both with sadder hearts than they 
had known before since they had first felt the hope 
and joy of pardoned sin. 

George was unhappy and self-condemned for 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


35 


having done what he ought to have known to be 
inconsistent with his Christian profession ; yet his 
proud heart was unwilling to acknowledge that he 
had done wrong. What right had the church to 
exercise a surveillance over his hours of relaxation ? 
Could he not spend them as he pleased, so he broke 
no law and injured no man? He would not be 
amenable to a body of men for his acts. He would 
not give them a chance to turn him out of the 
church ; he would ask to be dismissed. A seductive 
spirit, in an earlier day, had whispered, in honeyed 
words, into the ear of the mother of us all : Ye 
shall not surely die’’; and thus brought sin into our 
world, and all our woe. It was the same voice which 
told George now that he could serve God just as well 
out of the church as in it ; and he determined that he 
would leave it at once. But then he could not do 
this if they put him under censure ; there was the 
difficulty again. He was miserable; he had never 
known such unhappiness in his life. He dreaded to 
go home. He did not wish to meet his mother’s sad 
eyes. Perhaps his father would ask him to lead the 
evening devotions, as he frequently did. It would 
be impossible for him to do this. He could not pray 
if he was alone, while his mind was in such a tumult, 
much less could he lead in the devotions of otliers. 


36 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


He would plead headache, which he could do with 
truth, and go to bed as soon as supper was over. 
This he did ; but, as on the night before, his pillow 
was a prayerless one, and on this night, for many 
hours, a sleepless one as well. 

Days and weeks passed on, and he was reserved 
and petulant, very unlike his former self. He de- 
clined Harry Weston’s challenge, though he had half 
a mind to comply with it, just to show his manly 
independence. 

No public service had been held in his church 
since the night on which he purchased his disquiet, 
except the weekly prayer-meeting. He still attended 
this regularly, but took a seat in a corner away from 
all the rest, and refused to take any part in the devo- 
tions of the hour; he would not even join in the 
songs of praise. In truth, he found no pleasure in 
the house of prayer, nor in the service of God. 


CHAPTER V. 


GEORGE LEAVES THE CHURCH. 

A T length the time of the monthly appointment 
came on, and the good old pastor, Mr. Brown, 
was with them once more. The members who were 
so aggrieved with George Austin, consulted with 
their pastor as to what had best be done about his 
case. Should his dereliction be noticed, and in what 
way? He patiently listened to all they had to say. 
His response was : 

“ My brethren, what says the Book of books ? To 
the law and to the testimony. If thy brother sin 
against thee, go and tell him liis fault between thee 
and him alone. If he fail to hear thee, tell it unto 
the church.’’ 

In accordance with this advice, two of the members 
went to George and stated to him their grievance. 
He made no confession to them of having done what 
he considered WTong, but said that he was sorry he 
had wounded their feelings, and would promise not to 
offend in like manner again while he belonged to 
their body. They were satisfied, and decided to let 
the matter drop. 


37 


38 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


When the church assembled in her associate 
capacity for business, a large portion of the member- 
ship was present. When the meeting had organized, 
and the regular business was disposed of, the question 
was asked if there was any new business to come 
before the body. There was a pause, and no response 
came. But just as the Moderator Avas about to rise 
to give out the closing hymn, to the astonishment of 
all present, George Austin rose and asked for a letter 
of dismission. All eyes Avere turned upon him, and 
for a few moments profound silence reigned. Then 
some one begged to ask the brother if he was about to 
leave the village, or why he wished for a letter of 
dismission. His short, and rather sharp, reply was: 
‘‘For private and personal reasons.’^ 

There were Avhisperings going on among different 
members with each other, and surmisings why he 
should desire such a thing; but no one could give 
any valid reason why his request should not be 
granted ; and a motion Avas made, “ That a letter of 
dismission be granted to brother George Austin.’^ 

The practice had not then obtained in this church 
of giving a letter only to some particular church and 
of making a dismissed member amenable to one 
church until he was joined to the other. Hence, a 
letter was granted, and George Austin stood dis- 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


39 


missed, with no intention of resuming a connection 
with any church. 

When the meeting closed, his friend Henry sought 
him. He grasped the hand of George, and wrung it 
in silence and with anguished feelings. For the first 
time in their lives they were separated. It was as if 
a great sea divided them. They were no longer one 
in views and purposes and hopes. Henry, with his 
face Zionward, was traveling towards the Celestial 
City ; George was turning again to the City of De- 
struction. They walked on together, as was their 
wont, until their roads diverged, but not a word was 
spoken by either of them. They parted with another 
grasp of the hand. 

promised,^’ said George, ‘‘to offend no more 
while T belonged to their body. I am free from 
them now — at least I soon shall be — and my own 
master once more, amenable to no man, at liberty to 
come and go, and do as I please.” 

Fallacious reasoning. Was he happy? Never in 
his life had he been so miserable. He shunned his 
own home^ for he dreaded to meet the questioning of 
his father in reference to the step he had taken ; for 
not even to him, nor to his mother, had he told his 
intentions. He had conferred with no one. 

He stayed out until a late hour, and, on going 


V 


40 GEOEGE AUSTIN. 

home, found, as he had expected, the house closed and 
in darkness, with the exception of the one light which 
had been left burning for him. He entered, and, 
after fastening the front door, turned to take his lamp 
from the table, when his mother opened the drawing- 
room door, and, with convulsive sobs, threw her arms 
around him, and fell weeping on his- breast. He, 
too, was in tears, silent, but thoroughly unmanned. 
When her tongue found utterance, she said : 

My son, my darling, do you know what you are 
doing ? Are you willing to deny your Lord, to cast 
away your confidence in him, to live without the 
comforts of that religion which I thought had 
afforded you unfailing joy and peace 

have no idea, mother, of throwing away my 
religion. I can serve God without being dictated to 
by a body of superstitious old men. I am the laugh- 
ing stock of all the boys in town. Only yesterday 
Phil Wharton called out to me across the street, to 
know if my conscience-keepers were going to allow 
me to attend the Christmas ball. I will show him 
that I have no need to be hedged about by rules and 
regulations to keep me in what I believe to be the 
path of duty.^^ 

“ My child, this reasoning is very specious, but it is 
false. You cannot stand in your own strength. If 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


41 


the Great Founder of our faith had not deemed it 
necessary to our full spiritual development that we 
should be banded together as disciples, he would 
never have instituted his church. He organized it 
for our good. He has taught us that it is our duty 
to enter its precincts, to observe its ordinances, to seek 
its prosperity, to lend all our influence to promote its 
welfare. Even admitting that you are able to main- 
tain a Christian character independent of its re- 
straints, you seem to me to be taking your influence 
from the church of Christ, where it rightfully be- 
longs, to throw it into the world. Disguise it as you 
will, and claim that it is but an exercise of your 
inalienable rights as a man, you are losing sight of 
the obligation that the Lord lays on his people, to 
unite together for the promotion of their own spir- 
itual good, for the observance of his own ordinances, 
and for the advancement of his kingdom in the 
world.” 

^^We look at things diflerently, mother. I do not 
so consider it. I expect to serve God, to fulfill my 
religious duties, to maintain and honor the Christian 
name as far as in me lies.” 

It does not lie in your power, nor in that of any 
other human being, to do right unaided by the Spirit 
of God. The cnrnal mind is enmity against God. I 


42 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


believe it is John Newton who says, ^Not an enemy; 
if so, it might be reconciled ; but enmity itself.^ The 
Spirit of God must be continually operating upon the 
heart to drive out the carnal element, and substitute 
in its place that love to God wdiicli is the mainspring 
of every good and pure act. Are you not virtually 
saying that you can do without the aid of the Holy 
Spirit ? For how can you suppose that aid will be 
given to you when you set out to live according to 
your own will and not according to the will of the 
Lord ? May God help you, my darling boy. May 
you see the necessity of asking daily and hourly for 
the guidance of the Spirit of God, instead of setting 
out to guide yourself. Good-night, my darling. 
None but the God who reads all hearts can under- 
stand the deep anxiety I feel for you.” 

The next day was the Lord’s Day, and there was 
service at the little village church. Mr. Austin and 
his family were in their accustomed seats at the house 
of prayer. Mr. and Mrs. Austin felt humbled and 
distressed ; for though George sat beside his father, 
they felt that he was as, a fellow disciple, no longer of 
them. In their great sorrow, they knew that it was 
in vain to seek for comfort anywhere but at the foot- 
stool of mercy. 

When the prayer went up that the wanderers of 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


43 


the fold might be reclaimed; that the Good Shepherd 
would keep the lambs of his flock who were straying 
ill by and forbidden paths from the jaws of the de- 
vouring wolf; that he would fold them in his arms 
and bear them in his bosom — many an eye was wet 
with the tear of sympathy for those who were yearn- 
ing over their wandering ones, and who with diffi- 
culty repressed the anguish of their sobbing hearts; 
though he who was the subject of their anxiety sat 
erect and immovable as a statue, too proud to mani- 
fest any emotion, though he knew himself to be the 
party alluded to. 


CHAPTER yi. 


HOW IT FARED WITH GEORGE. 

XT ENRY WITHERSPOON deeply felt for his 
young friend in the position in which he had 
placed himself; yet there was one heart which 
throbbed with keener anguish than any or all of 
them. This was his sister Grace. Her warm affec- 
tions, not unsought, had gone forth with their wealth 
of tenderness and fastened themselves upon George; 
and it was exceedingly painful to her to see him thus 
alienate himself from the church she loved. It was 
like throwing away a rich inheritance of comfort here, 
and of everlasting bliss hereafter. 

Time passed on. He came occasionally to see her, 
yet he was very different from his former self. No 
longer joyous and merry as of old, but morose and 
stern ; he was becoming a misanthrope ; and their 
intercourse, not as of old, warm and genial, but cold 
as if an iceberg had wedged itself between them. 
She never alluded to his course ; she felt as if all had 
been said to him by his parents, and by others older 
and wiser than she, that could by any possibility in- 
fluence him. Nor did he advert to it ; thus by tacit 

44 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


45 


consent both were silent upon the subject. When 
between friends there comes to be a forbidden subject, 
there is always more or less of restraint ; and thus it 
was with them. 

Grace herself was getting under the influence of 
his morbid melancholy ; she was sad and dispirited ; 
she went through her daily duties as of old, pursuing 
her studies, and acting as the almoner of her parents’ 
bounty, visiting the sick and the poor; but all was 
done mechanically. Her thirst for knowledge had 
abated, or been swallowed up by the great grief which 
was resting upon her. In one only duty did she find 
any deep interest — that was in prayer. She would 
go to her little quiet sanctuary — a small room at the 
end of the hall over the front door, which had been 
neatly fitted up as a study for her own private use — 
and pour out her sorrows into the ear of a prayer- 
hearing God, pleading with him for the friend so 
dear. 

Sometimes, when George was with her, she would 
try to draw him out with winning gentleness to speak 
of himself, of his feelings, to get him to pour out to 
her as of old his inner nature ; but he guarded every 
expression with jealous care, lest he should bare to 
her view the heart which was so full of disquiet and 
unrest. He sedulously kept himself from amuse- 


46 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


ments, such even as were perfectly harmless in them- 
selves and ill their consequences. In his zeal to show 
how good a life he could lead outside the pale of the 
church, he was leaning towards asceticism ; yet his 
religion was rapidly sinking into the form without 
the power. He found no pleasure in the duties he 
had assigned himself ; they lacked vitality. He held 
himself aloof from the streams of benevolence which 
were flowing from the church ; he took no part in her 
services, and had, of course, no voice in her councils. 
Living thus aloof from her, it was hard to keep up 
an active growing faith, that faith which works by 
love and purifies the heart. 

At length he began to neglect his private devo- 
tions. They became to him insufierably irksome. 
Once he had found great pleasure in them ; had 
talked with God as with a loving Father, who 
understood all his weaknesses; who was touched 
with compassion for his infirmities; and who was ever 
more ready to give good gifts to his children than 
they were to ask them. Now his prayers seemed to 
him like but a senseless jargon, and he loathed the 
very thought of attempting the exercise. 

How easy it is to slide downwards in a course of 
wrong doing! It is but to take the first false step, 
and the work is half accomplished. To neglect the 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


47 


prayer-meeting followed as a matter of course, and at 
length all religious duties were set aside; and, at 
length, to throw himself into a course of dissipation 
and folly was but a natural sequence. He became 
the gayest of the gay, was foremost in every party of 
pleasure, and gave himself up to dancing and wine- 
drinking and card-playing with a zest he had never 
known before. He was trying to stifle the voice of 
conscience, which was constantly whispering to him 
that God made man for nobler ends than these. 
His parents watched his course with deep and pain- 
ful interest ; it was but what they expected. They 
could only follow him with their prayers. Their 
counsels seemed to have lost their weight with him, 
and hence they ceased to impart them. Their home 
had been peculiarly happy before this sorrow rested 
on it; but even now they lived in the hope that the 
cldud would one day be lifted. 

A year had passed since George had severed his 
connection with the church. It was again winter, 
and it opened very gaily in the village. The marriage 
of Mr. Wharton and Miss Storrs introduced a series 
of brilliant parties, and the young folks were all 
aglow with pleasurable excitement. Grace Wither- 
spoon was first bridesmaid, and George Austin stood 
with her. Henry Witherspoon and Emily Gordon 


48 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


were the other attendants. Holding the positions 
which they did, they were, of course, drawn to a 
certain extent into the festivities which followed. 
They enjoyed them in moderation, and with a relish 
unknown to George, who had drank of the cup of 
pleasure, until he had tasted its dregs, and they palled 
upon his appetite. 

It was a well understood thing that Henry had 
become the accepted suitor of Emily Gordon. Her 
youth made the contemplated marriage a thing of 
the future. Nevertheless, they were assimilating in 
taste, and habits, and maturing together in a way 
which gave large promise of connubial bliss. They 
were one in their religious feelings, obligations, and 
duties; they shared each other’s Christian experience; 
they were fellow-students in one Bible-class, and 
fellow-singers in one choir. To George, they were 
objects of envy. He could not help thinking: Such 
happiness might have been mine, with Grace for a 
companion, if things had been different ; but I know 
she would not have me now, and we could not be 
happy if she would. Her happiness and mine 
come from different sources. What she takes de- 
light, in I despise; and what I take pleasure in — 
ah ! do I find it in anything ? I have almost for- 
gotten the meaning of the word.’^ 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


49 


One evening, at a party given to the bride, George 
went up to Grace and asked her to dance with him. 
She looked at him for a moment in surprise, and then 
said : 

If you asked me out of compliment, George, I am 
much obliged; if you are in earnest — insulted. In 
either case I decline.” She was silent for a moment, 
and then said; ‘G do not know, George, what reason 
I have ever given you to suppose that I would will- 
ingly do violence to my Christian convictions.” 

^^Do those convictions forbid your dancing?” 

^^Yes, very decidedly.” 

Some churches tolerate dancing in their mem- 
bers.” 

‘^I think no Baptist Church should; for it cost the 
first Baptist his head.” 

Well that is the first solid reason I ever heard 
against it.” 

Mrs. Austin, who was sitting near them, and who 
had heard their colloquy, said : 

It might be a very harmless amusement if re- 
stricted to dances which in themselves have no 
objectionable features, and stripped of the late 
hours, and the inordinate fondness which it creates 
for display; but it is rarely found in society without 

these concomitants ; and when we look at its sur- 
D 


50 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


roundings, and, most of all, at its effects upon the 
spiritual character and Christian growth of those 
who are accustomed to indulge in it, I think 
every reflecting, pious mind must condemn it. In 
this, as in all things else, Christian principle should 
govern us; not inclination, nor pleasure.” 

‘^And do you never feel any inclination to dance, 
Grace ? ” said George. 

Not of late,” she replied, as she raised her mild 
eyes to his. 

He understood the glance, and quailed as he felt 
that his errors were crushing out the gayety and life 
of her young heart, but not choosing to admit it, he 
went on quietly to say : 

^‘You used to dance like a perfect sylph in your 
child days; it seems strange you never care for it 
now.” 

^‘If I did, George, it would make no difference 
with me about participating in it. If I had no 
scruples about dancing myself, I should never do 
what the older and wiser members of the church 
disapprove. If I had not thought that I could 
conform to the judgment and feelings of the more 
experienced and spiritually minded members of the 
church, I should never have joined it.” 

George made no reply, and after a few minutes 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


51 


arose and left them. After his departure, Mrs. 
Austin had a long conversation with Grace about 
her son, and the unhappy state of mind into which 
he had fallen. She said : 

^‘He is never contented except when he is under 
some strong excitement — and at no time happy. He 
is restless and dissatisfied when about the house, and 
querulous to the children, so that they no longer hail 
his footstep as the harbinger of fun and frolic. He 
has become intimate with the set of wild, dissolute 
young men, who frequent the Star Tavern; and his 
father and I are trembling for his habits. He does 
not neglect his business when he has any to do, but 
he has not sufficient to keep him fully employed. 
His father sometimes thinks he will advise him to go 
away from here ; he thinks, if he could break away 
from these associates, it would be better for'him. He 
has never mentioned it to him yet, it would be so 
hard for us to give him up; but then it would be 
better than for him to stay here and ruin himself.’^ 

The loving heart of Grace had all that she could 
bear during this sad recital ; but she sought to repress 
and conceal her feelings. She assented, but very un- 
willingly, to Mrs. Austin’s opinion, that it would be 
better for him to break away from his old associates. 

As George escorted Grace home that night, he said : 


52 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


‘^You must pardon me, Grace, if I wounded your 
feelings by asking you to dance to-night. It was not 
intentional disrespect, but only thoughtlessness. I 
knew you would not when I asked you. I would 
not have had you accede for anything. However 
profligate I may have become, I have not parted with 
my respect for woman ; least of all for you. I hoped 
once, dear Grace, that you might one day be the com- 
panion of my life. I have said this to you in actions, 
more than once. Why should I not say it in words ? 
But it is too late now; you would spurn a heart so 
swallowed up in sin and self as mine, and I have 
gone too far ever to retrace my steps.^' 

‘^Oh, say not so, George, dear George! It is not 
too late. What infatuation has seized upon you that 
you thus throw away your happiness? Come back to 
Jesus. He is waiting to forgive you. ‘Look unto 
me and be ye saved all the ends of the earth, for I 
am God, and there is none else.’ You have only to 
exercise faith in him, to seek his pardon and forsake 
your sins, and you will once more find joy and peace 
in believing.” 

“I have scorned his love, Grace, and denied his 
name, and I know there is no mercy for me. I have 
been left to hardness of heart and blindness of mind. 
It is vain for me to hope.” 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


53 


Would that I had an angePs tongue to plead with 
you, dear George. If you could only see with me, 
the fullness and the freeness that there is in Christ’s 
salvation, you would accept it, and find rest once 
more within his sheltering arms. I must ask brother 
Henry to talk to you.” 

Do not ask him. I cannot bear it. Whenever 
he attempts to speak to me on this subject, I change 
the conversation ; and so I do with father. Only to 
you have I opened my heart, and I felt that I must 
open it or it would break. Do pray for me, dear 
Grace. Perhaps your prayers may avail me ; but no, 
I have no hope. Think how dreadful my situation 
must be when I have no hope. If I only could hope 
in God’s mercy. I know it is boundless, but it can 
never avail for me. I have cast away my day of 
grace.” 

They had reached and passed the door of her 
father’s house. Grace did not enter, for she was un- 
willing to drop the subject, but walked on ; and when 
they reached the head of the street they turned back. 
Thus they walked to and fro for nearly an hour, and 
then parted, her arguments and pleading having had 
no apparent effect upon him. 


CHAPTER yil. 


GEORGE GOES TO THE CITY. 

A FEW weeks after the conversation recorded in 
the previous chapter, George called on Grace, 
to tell her that he was going to New York to spend 
a year, perhaps longer. He said : 

“Father has written to Judge Reese, and asked 
him to take me into his office for twelve months. 
He thinks it would be of service to me in my profes- 
sion to ^ 'a knowledge of city practice.’’ 

They talked together of his plans and prospects, 
and he seemed more cheerful than Grace had seen 
him for a long time. He asked a correspondence 
with her, which she readily granted. He took tea 
and spent the evening ; and ere he left, he said : 

“Grace, I wish I dared to ask you to become my 
wife.” 

“And if you did,” she replied, “I should not dare 
to say yes. I frankly own to you, George, that your 
affection for me is returned. I love you more than 
words can express ; but how could I give myself to 
one who spurns my Saviour?” 

54 


GEOUGE AUSTIN. 


55 


Say rather, who is spurned of him,” said he, in- 
terrupting her. 

“No, my dear friend, that is not so. He casts 
away none who come to him. You will not go to 
him that you may have life.” 

“We have argued that question enough,” he said, 
despondingly. “ Do not cloud the last hours we shall 
spend together by bringing up the old theme.” 

“ You must not fetter my pen while I write, 
though. If you do, I shall take back my promise to 
correspond with you.” 

“Any way, so that you do not cast me off, Grace. 
When you do, I shall be lost indeed.” 

One day in the following week, as th^f :}ge horn 
rung out its merry peal on entering the village, the echo 
was sent back in sadness from more than one home. 
In which of them the cloud of separation was most 
dense and appalling would be hard to tell. True, in 
the dwelling of Mr. Austin it covered a broader ex- 
tent, enclosing in a dark pall every room in his 
house; yet not less dark and gloomy were its deepen- 
ing shades over the quiet chamber of Grace. 

After changing horses and changing mail bags at 
the tavern, the stage drove up to Mr. Austiffs door, 
and George took his seat in it. His farewells were 
tender and sad. In that early day, when there was 


66 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


no mode of transit on land but by stage, nor on the 
water but by sail, New York w'as as remote from them, 
measured by the time consumed in reaching it, as 
Liverpool is now from New York ; and it seemed to 
parties who were about to make the journey like 
more of an undertaking then than crossing the ocean 
does now. 

Several of his associates were at the door to give 
him parting greeting — among them his old and long 
tried friend Henry, who would not give him up, 
though their paths diverged so widely of late. 
Henry said : 

I shall expect you to write to me as soon as you 
get there, and I will give you no reason to complain 
of my tardiness in replying.” 

Mutual promises were exchanged, mutual good 
wishes expressed, and the stage drove off with its 
cargo of living freight, its closely packed trunks, its 
well filled lunch baskets, its great coats and furs, and 
hot bricks for the feet, to neutralize the effects of the 
cold. Keen and piercing as the blast was without, 
yet keener was the chill which struck to the mother’s 
heart, as her erring, unhappy son Avas thus thrown 
out into the Avide Avorld to engage in its struggle. 

‘^No man can serve Iaa^o masters; for either he Avill 
hate the one and love the other, or else he Avill hold 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


67 


to the one and despise the other.” George Austin 
was a living witness to this. He had tried to hold 
on to the world with one hand, while he grasped 
religion in the other. This is one of life’s most 
melancholy pictures. He who tries thus to serve God 
and mammon finds no enjoyment in either. His love 
of the world kills out his Christian joy, while his 
conscience will not suffer him to find enjoyment in 
the pleasures of the world. It is idle to try to be 
wise above what is written. 

Whosoever doth not bear his cross and follow after 
me, cannot be my disciple.” If any man love the 
world, the love of the Father is not in him.” How 
do the passages of Holy Writ apply to every phase 
and condition of human life! 

It was quite an event in Mr. Austin’s household 
when George’s first letter arrived. He wrote : 

My Dear Mother : 

Here I am at last, in this great and busy city. You can- 
not think how tedious our trip down was. We had a stage 
full nearly all the route, but mostly way passengers. There 
were only two of us who went all the way through. One 
who was on his way down to purchase goods, and I. We be- 
came very well acquainted before the trip was over. The 
sleighing failed us long before reaching the city, and we ex- 
changed runners for wheels. 

Just after making the exchange, an accident happened to 


58 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


US as we were going down a steep hill. The horses ran 
away, turned the stage over, and dragged it, with us in it, 
some little distance, when they came bolt against a tree, and 
stopped. It was the greatest wonder we were not all killed. 
As it was, there was no one hurt but the driver. He was 
pitched off over into the woods, and had his leg broken. He 
was drunk at the time, which was the cause of the accident. 
We were in sight of the next stage stand, and, fortunately, 
found an extra vehicle there, or we might have been de- 
tained no telling how long ; for the one we were in was liter- 
ally broken to pieces. 

We found good and well cooked meals at most of the stage 
stands ; but my friend and I nearly emptied our lunch 
baskets notwithstanding. It was an amusement to us to eat, 
as we had nothing else to do. 

On reaching the city I called on J udge Reese, and deliv- 
ered my letters of introduction. He is a fine looking, portly 
man, and has very genial manners. I am sure I shall like 
him. He directed me to a boarding house, and invited me 
to come around to his house in the evening after I had set- 
tled myself in my new quarters, and take tea with him. He 
said his tea hour was seven o’clock. I thought to myself I 
should have a good appetite by that time, though that was 
when I was expecting to eat dinner at twelve, as I used to do 
at home ; but when I came to Mrs. Somers, where the judge 
directed me, and where I am now located, she told me that 
her hours for meals were eight and two and seven. I sup- 
pose I can stand it to wait until eight o’clock for breakfast, 
now that the mornings are short, but don’t know how I can 
get used to it when they are longer. As nobody goes to 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


59 


business until after breakfast, they must waste many hours in 
the course of the year having such late breakfast. 

I have a very pleasant front room in my boarding house, 
handsomely furnished, and am now sitting in it, writing, by a 
good, comfortable fire. Mrs. Somers proposed putting me 
in a room with another young man, but I objected, and told 
her I was obliged to have a room to myself. This she said 
at first she could not give me, but on consideration she 
assigned me to this. 

I dined here, and this evening went over and took tea with 
Judge Reese and his family. He has a wife and one child 
only, a daughter whom I should take to be about sixteen. 
She gave me some very fine music on the piano after supper. 
Everything seems very strange to me here; and I miss the 
pleasant home voices, and feel as if I had a great deal to say 
to you all if I could only see you, but that will not be soon. 
Meantime, you must write to me often, and keep me well 
posted in home news. With love to every one, and a kiss 
for the baby, I am very affectionately your son, 

George. 

His father and mother read the letter together. 
How they wished it had contained some expression 
of thankfulness to God for his care over him, and his 
goodness in sparing his life, which had been so im- 
periled in his journey ! But evidently God was not 
in all his thoughts. His mother’s reply to him was 
so characteristic, we give it in full : 

Your letter of the sixteenth is before me, my dear son. 


60 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


You do not need to be told that it gave us great pleasure to 
hear from you, and our hearts were full of gratitude to the 
God who watched over your precious life when it was in such 
peril. Your father and I cannot help regarding your deliv- 
erance from evil as a special answer to our prayers. 

I cannot tell you how lonely our home seems without you. 
Your absence creates a void, which no other presence can fill. 
Sometimes a friend drops in, and we give him your seat at 
the table. How we wish it was yourself who filled it ! Then 
again it is empty, and that is sadder still. 

When our little ones gather about our feet, I feel it in my 
heart to wish that they might always be held in the embrace 
of childhood, and never grow older ; for then they, too, may 
leave us. 

And oh, the mother’s home how cold, 

When all her birds can fly I 

There is little of interest to write about in our quiet and 
.uneventful life. Mr. Brown preached for us last Saturday 
and Sunday, which were, you know, his regular days. He 
stayed with us during the appointment ; indeed, he re- 
mained with us until Tuesday morning, as it snowed hard all 
day Monday. It cleared off that night and turned very cold, 
and the morning he left was a severe one. I felt sorry for 
the dear old man, that he had to ride all that day facing the 
keen north wind ; but he did not seem to mind it. He never 
tires in his Master’s service. Surely he will be one of those 
who will shine as stars in the heavenly kingdom. 

The three elder children are at school this morning, as 
usual. Your father has purchased a set of Latin books for 
John, and he took them to school this morning for the first 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


61 


time, in order to commence the study. It would be hard to 
say which was the proudest, he or his sisters. Alice and 
Clara both begged for the privilege of carrying some of the 
new books, which he was, of course, very ready to grant. 
Alice says I must tell you not to forget that you promised to 
write to her. She says she hopes you will not send her 
letter in one of mine, but direct it to herself, that the post- 
master may see that she is old enough to 'get letters. She 
seems to think it will be quite a step towards womanhood. 
Herbert is sitting here with a knife and some sticks, trying 
to make a kite. I asked him what I should tell you for him. 
He says, “ Tell him I wish he was here to fix my kite for 
me.” Baby lies asleep in the cradle. Your father misses 
you more than any of us. He feels the need of your serv- 
ices. He has some very perplexing cases on hand which are 
annoying him not a little. Several times in the last week he 
has said, “I wish George was here.” I want you to write 
me what church you attend, and who is your pastor, and 
how often you go to church, and, in short, everything about 
yourself. 

Once more, my darling boy, I would warn you against 
evil associates. Admit none to your friendship who are not 
good and pure and honorable. You do not realize how we 
insensibly assimilate with those whom we mingle with. This 
is true in every stage of life. It is particularly true of tlie 
young. Your mother’s heart yearns over you with all a 
mother’s fondness, and daily and constantly to her God she 
commends you. May the angel of his presence save you ; 
may his loving care protect you ; may the Holy Spirit guide 
you. If my son would but return to the paths he has for- 


62 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


saken, and cry out once more as of old, “My Father, thou 
art the guide of my youth,” then would his mother’s heart 
leap for joy, and her grateful thanksgivings ascend to him 
whom she ever acknowledges as the Author of all her 
mercies. 

I could willingly keep on writing to you all day, but other 
duties claim my attention and I must close. The children 
all said I must send their love to you ; and they gave me 
many other messages, which, if I had written all, would 
have given me no time to say anything for myself. I turned 
them over to Alice, telling her she would have to deliver 
them when she wrote. Your ever devoted mother, 

Mary Austin. 


CHAPTER yill. 


George’s life m the city. 

rriHE letter that George wrote to Grace Wither- 
spoon was in a very different strain from that 
he had written to his mother. To Grace, he opened 
all his heart, and while he had a morbid sensitiveness 
about letting others know or guess his feelings, in 
his intercourse with her he was never satisfied unless 
he revealed them fully. In writing to her he says : 

Dear GtRAce : 

I hope by this time you are anxious to hear from me. I 
shall at least presume that such is the case, and proceed to 
write ; though you told me to write about myself, and I have 
nothing pleasant to say upon that subject. You know the 
old saying about sufferers, who change the place, but keep 
the pain. It is thus with me. I bear about with me in this 
great city the same dull, aching heart, which you have tried 
so hard to soothe and comfort. The stage was upset when 
we were coming down, and our lives were in imminent 
jeopardy. I shudder when I think of it. What if I should 
then have been summoned into eternity ? I, who have for- 
saken Grod, and cast off fear, and restrained prayer befor^ 
him? I know that to me he will be an angry judge. I have 

63 


64 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


provoked his wrath, dishonored his name ; and he is visiting 
upon me even now the fearful curse : “I will laugh at your 
calamity, and mock when your fear cometh ; when your fear 
cometh as desolation and your destruction cometh as a whirl- 
wind ; when distress and anguish cometh upon you.” 

Do not think me weak and cowardly, Grrace ; but often at 
night I fear to go to sleep, lest I should wake in eternity. 
You urge it upon me to return to Christ, and seek again his 
mercy. I have tried, but in vain ; there is no mercy for me. 
My heart is hardened, that it cannot repent. I read the 
Bible. Its promises do not seem meant for me, while its 
curses ring in my ears with terrific meaning, as if they were 
written for me alone. No matter where I go to church, or 
what minister I listen to, if he is denouncing sinners and 
depicting their doom, his gaze is fixed on me. I cannot 
escape his eye. Ah, Grace, it is dreadful to be so followed 
by the curse of God ; to feel that there is no getting away 
from it ! It haunts me like a presence. Many an hour it 
holds mine eyes waking that I cannot sleep ; and even in my 
dreams it relaxes not its hold. Why was I so infatuated as 
to forsake the service of God ? Well did my father tell me I 
was under the devil’s influence, on that fiital night when I 
took the first false step. Had I but heeded his warning 
then ! But it was powerless for good, while the jeers of my 
young companions goaded me to desperation. How little I 
care for them now ! But I cannot recall the past. I would 
willingly give ten years of my life if the last eighteen months 
could be blotted out. 

Dear Grace, I feel as if I was wronging you by writing 
you such a letter as this. I know that selfishness is guiding 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


65 


my pen ; and I know too, that your pure nature cannot 
understand the struggles of a heart as sinful as mine, and 
I ought not to lay it bare before you ; but your sympathy is 
sweet to me, and I need your prayers. How much I need 
them, none but the Judge of all the earth can know. Some- 
times I abjure every amusement and give all my time to 
religious duties, in the hope that I may be able to regain 
what I have lost ; but it does me no good. I find no comfort 
there. Then I try the pleasures of the world again. I attend 
parties and frequent the theatre, and lend myself to every 
species of gaiety and frolic that presents itself, if I can enter 
into it consistently with my self-respect ; but 1 cannot drown 
my feelings. The suspended sword is there ; the sword of 
an avenging Grod. I cannot get away from it. 

Dear Grace, what I have written you is in the most sacred 
confidence ; you must not speak of it to any one, and, above 
all things, do not show my letter, but burn it. It is for your 
perusal alone. It will pass in the eyes of your friends for a 
love-letter. Such are never shown. Strange love-letter this ; 
yet such it is. If my heart did not go out to you as to no 
one else on earth, I could not have written what I have. 
Methinks I hear you say : 

“ Your confidence is more flattering than agreeable. What 
interest can I have in such a gloomy letter?” Yet no, 1 
wrong you, Grace. You are interested for me ; you would be 
interested for the meanest of God’s creatures who was in 
such a pitiable state of mind. Would that your interest 
could avail me. Would that your praj'^ers could help me, 
for I know I have them. If I could only have you near me, 
with me all the time, perhaps your sweet influence might win 

E 


66 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


me back to what I have been. Yet, no ; nothing can do 
that now. I have gone too far. Still I want you as my 
own. Grrace, dear Grace, will you not be my wife? Start 
not as though I asked from you an impossibility. Whatever 
I may be in myself— and I have used no deception towards 
you, as this letter will testify — my heart could never be aught 
else but true to you. I have loved you, as you well know, 
from my boyhood up. I do not remember the day when I 
did not hope some day to erect a home of which you were to 
be the mistress. Even long before the days when we trod 
together the same path to a common school — when I carried 
your books for you back and forth — long before this I loved 
you. 

And can you cast away such love as this, dear Grace, such 
as comes but once in a life time ? If you will have me, I will 
make our home anywhere you please. I will bring you here, 
or we will settle ourselves in the quiet town where we both 
were born and reared ; or I will go anywhere, where your 
inclination may lead. Even if by any turn of the wheel of 
fortune I should lose the independent living which I now 
have, and the wealth which I have reason to suppose I shall 
inherit, still I feel perfectly competent to earn for you, any- 
where, such a support as will maintain you in the station 
that you have always adorned. 

I shall await your answer with great anxiety. I hope and 
trust it will be favorable to my wishes. I dare not think 
how terrible the disappointment will be to me, if it should 
not. All unworthy as I am, will not your own heart plead 
for me ? By the memory of our early days ; by the child- 
love, true and faithful through all these long years, I 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


67 


earnestly beg you to accede to my wishes. If you will 
only say yes, everything shall be as you wish it. I will come 
back home for you at once, and we will be married and return 
here to spend this year together ; or I will wait for you as 
many years as Jacob did for Rachel, if you so require it, 
which Grod forbid. Please write me at once and let me know 
my fate ; and if you will allow me to be, you will find me ever 
faithfully and devotedly your own, George Austin. 

Grace was sitting in the parlor entertaining some 
friends, who had just called upon her, when the 
postman^s knock was heard. The letter w^as handed 
to her ; she glanced at the superscription, and 
hurriedly slipped it into her pocket. They rallied 
her about not opening it immediately, and gave 
her full permission to do so and read it; but she 
shrewdly suspected that she could not trust herself 
to read it in the presence of others. Well for her 
that she did not; for she had not finished half a page 
ere tlie tears were streaming down her cheeks. She 
read it twice; the second time on her knees before 
God, commending her friend to him in voiceless 
prayer. Did she seek for guidance in the path of 
duty in relation to the all-important question which 
had been asked her ? She hesitated not for a moment 
on this point. No matter what might be the plead- 
ings of her heart, her duty was clear. But we leave 
her to tell her own story ; 


68 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


Dear George : 

Your letter is this day received, and its prevailing tone of 
disquiet and unrest fills me too with sadness ; for my heart 
responds to yours as to no other on earth. You wonder that 
you do not find peace in believing, while according to your 
own account, I should wonder if you could. What is the 
promise ? “Ye shall seek me, and shall find me when ye shall 
search for me with all your heart.” Are you doing this? 
Not while you are in full pursuit of worldy pleasures, attend- 
ing parties, frequenting theatres, and joining in kindred 
amusements. These are not places where you will be likely 
to find Jesus. 

My dear friend, you are mistaken if you think that you 
can enjoy the presence of God and frivolous amusements at 
the same time. The two are perfectly antagonistic to each 
other. The state of mind which produces enjoyment in the 
one precludes it in the other. You claim to be seeking 
God’s presence, and a sense of his forgiving love ; yet you 
are trying to hold on to the world at the same time. Would 
that I could impress it upon you, George, that you cannot 
seiwe God and mammon 1 It may be that you are un- 
conscious that you are trying to do this, yet it is the secret 
of your want of success in finding the Saviour. When you 
come with the spirit — 

If I perish I will pray, 

And perish only there — 

then you may expect success. Do not think me harsh. I 
am but dealing with you in Christian faithfulness. May the 
Lord open your eyes to see the position in which you have 
placed yourself. 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


69 


And now, dear George, with regard to your proposal to 
me, blame me not if I tell you that I cannot accede to it. I 
am not blind to the honor you do me in making it ; nor am I 
insensible to the flattering manner in which it was made. 
Any woman ought to be proud to win such a heart as yours, 
even if it were stripped of the wealth and position which 
are yours ; but, dear George, I dare not give myself to you. 
If I should ever form such a connection in life as you 
propose, which is quite unlikely, it must be with one who 
will help me to keep the commandments of my God. I am, 
in myself, too prone to disregard his laws, and act counter 
to his will. If I seek another heart to lean on, I must have 
one that will aid me in my Christian course — one who loves 
my Saviour, and will be jealous of his honor, and quick to 
reprove in me any departure from the path of Christian 
rectitude. It is unnecessary for me to tell you that I do not 
decline from any want of affection for you. You well know 
that I love you ; but this would not justify me in placing 
myself in a position which would make us both miserable. 
I hope my answer will not terminate our friendship, but that 
it will be life long. We may be such to each other, if we are 
not what you propose. You may rest assured that you 
cannot place yourself in any circumstances in which you 
will not find a friend in me. 


Grace Witherspoon. 


. CHAPTER IX. 


GEORGE VISITS MISS BERTHA REESE. 

EORGE was chagrined beyond measure at the 



^ reception of this letter, though he said to him- 
self over and again : I knew it all the time. I knew 
she would never marry such a backslider as I. 
Well, let it pass. I want none of her friendship. 
If she cannot be to me what I want her to be, I can 
live without her, as I will show her. I don’t think 
Bertha Reese would say no to me, if I were to ask 
her. I will go to see her this very evening.” 

He sat in the office musing for some time. The 
office door was open, and it was a bright, sunny day, 
and the street was full of ladies out in gay spring 
attire, and full of joyous life. He sat watching to see 
if he could trace on any countenance the marks of care 
or sorrow, but he could not. He thought everybody 
was happy but himself. He was ready to conclude 
that, of all the world, he alone was miserable. Why 
could he not bear a heart as gay as any of them? 
As soon as office hours were over, he went to his 
room and made preparations to go around to Judge 


70 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


71 


Reese’s to spend the evening. He knew that he was 
always sure of a welcome there. 

He found Miss Bertha in the parlor entertaining 
some other gentlemen, who, like himself, had called 
in search of a pleasant hour. It did not need much 
imagination, nor any great stretch of self-love, to 
understand that he was a favored guest among them ; 
but he was too indifferent to care for it. 

I think,” said Bertha, Mr. Austin is triste to- 
night. What has thrown such a shade over his 
usually merry countenance ? ” 

^^And is my countenance usually a merry one?” 
“Always in my presence.” 

“ Perhaps it shines with reflected light.” 

“Per contra. Mother always tells me that mine is 
brighter when you have been here. I claim that to 
be reflected light. Perhaps you have had sad news 
from home. Have you had letters lately ? ” 

“ Yes, I heard to-day. My friends are all well.” 
“Well, if I cannot divine the cause of your sad- 
ness, perhaps I can dissipate it. I have just learned 
a new song, the sweetest thing of the kind 1 ever 
heard — 

Oh swiftly glides the bonny boat. 

Let me play and sing it for you, and see if you can- 
not give me the bass.” 


72 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


After waiting a few moments, two gentlemen rose 
simultaneously to open the piano, nor did George 
realize that he was the one who should have done it 
until it was too late. They had delayed until they 
saw that he was oblivious to his obligation in the 
matter. 

Miss Bertha bit her lip with vexation at his cold 
response to her proffered courtesy. She would have 
declined singing and playing for him, if she could 
have devised any excuse for doing so ; but she could 
think of none. She complained that her seat was too 
low, then it was too high ; and when the screw had 
been turned to her satisfaction, the lights needed re- 
arranging, thus deferring as long as possible the exe- 
cution of her proffered song, in the hope that the 
arrival of some other guest, or something else, might 
obviate the necessity for her complying with a propo- 
sition which had been so ungraciously received. 

But at length when there was no longer any excuse 
for delay, she commenced ; and soon George was in- 
spirited by the gay tones of the fisherman’s song, and 
entered into it cheerily. He persuaded her to sing 
it again and again, until he had his part as perfectly 
as she hers. Her self-love was mollified; and once 
more, in the best of spirits, she responded with quick 
and ready touch to the requests made by her different 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


73 


guests for one piece after another, each of which 
seemed to give her as much pleasure to render it, as 
it did them to listen to it. 

Thus the evening passed pleasantly; and George 
returned home interested and amused for the time, 
though the demon of discontent had full possession of 
him when he awoke on the following morning. 

Meantime, how was it with Grace Witherspoon? 
Had she no burthen to bear in the matter ? From 
her earliest recollection, George had called her his 
little wife. She had always conformed to his wishes, 
and acted from her childhood up as she thought would 
please him. She had known no law but his Avill, 
aside from the duty which she owed her parents until 
she grew to an age when her conscience asserted its 
sway ; and it was only in obedience to its dictates 
that she ever went counter to his wishes. She knew 
that his heart belonged to her; and how gladly would 
she have accepted the offer of his hand, if she had 
felt that she could do so consistently with her re- 
ligious obligations; but she had chosen her path in 
life. It was to follow in the footsteps of her adorable 
Redeemer. He lived in the world, but not of it ; so 
would she. 

It was the earnest and constant desire of Grace to 
follow Christ, and to conform her life, as far as 


74 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


possible, in all respects to the perfect pattern that 
he had left for her imitation. 

She wished to form no worldly ties which should 
draw her away from Jesus. Better to trample on the 
love of her youth, and lead a life of loneliness, and 
find her only pleasure in going about like her Master 
in doing good, than to purchase worldly happiness at 
the expense of her religious faith. In giving herself 
to George, she would but deepen and strengthen his 
influence over her ; and if he became a skeptic, which 
from his present state of mind he bid fair to be, she 
might, perhaps, be dragged down by him into the 
depths of unbelief. 


CHAPTER X. 


GRACE FINDS MRS. WOODBURY SUFFERING. 

RACE had been out late one evening, walking 
with her friend and almost sister, Emily Gor- 
don. They had been to the burying ground, which 
was located on a side hill just without the village — a 
place of great natural beauty, to which they often re- 
sorted in their frequent walks. She had left Emily 
at the door of her father’s house; and as they had 
lingered longer than usual, and the daylight was 
quite gone, she was walking on with rapid steps 
towards her home, when her attention was arrested by 
the crying of a child. She turned the street corner 
and went around into an alley way, from whence the 
sound proceeded, where she found a girl, apparently 
eleven or twelve years old, crying and sobbing as if 
her heart would break. It was some time before the 
child could be sufficiently pacified to give her any 
information upon the subject of her sorrow. When 
she did, it was to tell her, that her mother, who lived 
a little way down the alley, was sick ; that neither 
she nor her mother had had anything to eat for two 

75 


76 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


days ; that when her father came home at sundown, 
and she begged him for a piece of bread, he got mad 
with her, and kicked her down the stairs, and told 
her never to come into the house again. Grace said 
to her; 

Does your father often get mad with you ? ’’ 

‘^He is always mad with everybody when he is 
drunk,” was the child’s reply. 

“ Show me your house,” Grace said, and I will 
take you to it and beg your father to let you come 
back.” 

can’t,” was her reply. know he will kill 

me.” 

Nor could all the persuasions of Grace induce the 
child to enter the room which was all the home she 
had, though she willingly conducted Grace to it ; for 
her little heart was suffering from fear of what might 
befall her mother, left as she was, alone, in the power 
of a drunken and angry man. 

Grace ascended the narrow steps, and was obliged 
to stoop as she entered the low door which introduced 
her into the dingy and uncomfortable garret. On 
what passed for a bed, though it was little more than 
a pile of rags, a form was lying, which Grace sup- 
posed to be the mother of the child whom she had 
seen, though the obscurity of the room rendered it 


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Page 77 







GEORGE AUSTIN. 


77 


impossible for her to see anything but the outline. 
There was no light but that which was emitted 
from a few firebrands, still unconsumed, and smoul- 
dering in the chimney. Near the window sat a man, 
with his hat on his head, who did not notice her en- 
trance, and, from his attitude and position, she sup- 
posed him to be sleeping. Grace approached the bed, 
and found the woman weeping. She accosted her, 
and found she was distressed about the child, who 
had been turned out of doors by her father. She 
said : 

I do not know what has become of her. I have 
tried two or three times to get up and look for her, 
but am so faint and weak, I cannot get a dozen 
steps.’’ 

Grace told her that the little girl was standing at 
the foot of the steps, but afraid to come in. Her 
mother said : 

Please tell her that I say, she must come in softly 
and not awaken her father.” 

The child came in gladly, and crept quietly up to 
her mother’s bed, and, lying down softly beside her, 
was soon fast asleep. Mrs. Woodford felt, from 
Grace’s manner, that she had in her a sympathizing 
friend, and she opened her heart to her freely. She 
said : 


78 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


just moved into the village here a few weeks 
ago. We have been living in Albany, and my hus- 
band is a printer, and can always command good 
wages when he will keep sober. A better, kinder 
man than he is, miss, never lived, when he lets liquor 
alone. We had a good, comfortable, happy home 
until a few years ago, when he took to drinking; and 
from that time we got to going down hill. Things 
grew worse and worse. He drank so hard that no- 
body would give him anything to do, and he had to 
sell our furniture, one piece after another, to get 
bread to eat, until finally all was gone, even to our 
bed. He called it selling it to get bread to eat, but 
the most of the money went for drink. When he got 
out of money and out of credit, he was obliged to be 
sober; and he made an agreement with Mr. Allen, 
who, you know, has just commenced a paper here, to 
come here and work as a compositor for him in his 
printing office. Mr. Allen paid our expenses here, 
and supplied us with food for a few weeks in ad- 
vance. Then he kept back Mr. Woodford’s wages 
until he had paid himself. 

“ My husband made Mr. Allen very fair promises ; 
he said if he would bring him here and give him 
work, he would never drink another drop. But I 
did not have any hope then that he would reform ; 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


79 


for he has promised me the same thing so many 
times ; and, poor man, I believe he tries to keep his 
word, but it seems to be impossible. Last Saturday 
night he had some money due him, the first he had 
earned after paying Mr. Allen, and he said, at dinner 
time, when I told him our flour was out ; 

‘ Never mind. I will bring you flour and meat 
both to-night.’ 

But when night came, it was the same old story. 
He came home drunk, and has been in that condition 
ever since. He has not bought us a mouthful to eat, 
and all we have had since then w’as some bread Annie 
made from a little flour which I sent her out and 
bought with a quarter of a dollar that he had 
dropped on the floor, and she had picked up. I got 
up last night several times to try and get some money 
out of his pocket, for I am very sure that he has not 
spent all his week’s wages yet. But he is wide awake 
as soon as ever I touch him, and I cannot get a cent 
from him.” 

Grace staid only long enough to hear this recital, 
when she went home and told the sad tale to her 
parents. A basket was soon filled with edibles, and 
Grace went herself with Ma’am Polly, the servant, 
who carried it, and had the satisfaction of seeing 
Mrs. Woodford and Annie both make a hearty 


80 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


meal. The poor, besotted man still slept on, un- 
conscious of all that was passing. 

When Grace left Mrs. Woodford she told her that 
she would come again in the morning, and send their 
family physician to see her and minister to her ail- 
ments. 

The next morning Grace was as good as her word. 
She sent Dr. Frary to see Mrs. Woodford and pre- 
scribe for her, and went around herself to see her, 
after ordering a load of wood to her house, and 
employing a laborer to saw and split it, and carry 
it up into her loft. She also ordered supplies sent 
there from the grocer and the butcher; and when 
she reached the humble lodging, she was met with 
grateful thanks. 

Mrs. Woodford was a great sufferer from an in- 
ternal cancer, which Dr. Frary had told Grace was 
incurable; but he promised to visit her daily, and do 
what he could to relieve her. The poor sufferer 
said: 

“Your doctor was very kind and sympathizing, 
and I feel grateful to God who has raised up for 
me such kind friends in the house of my pilgrimage. 
I told little Annie yesterday, when she was crying for 
bread, that we should soon have something to eat. 
I knew the Lord would provide for us, for he 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


81 


always appears in our time of extremity. JHis 
faithfulness has never failed me yet. My heaviest 
grief is seeing my husband throw himself away in 
the manner he is doing. He joined the church 
when I did, but he has cast away his confidence. I 
do not think he ever would have done it but for this 
dreadful appetite to which he has yielded. My trust 
in the Lord is my only comfort in my distress. I 
know I have not long to stay here, and I am ready 
for my change when the Lord sends it; but some- 
times, when I get to thinking of what is to become 
of my poor little Annie, my heart fails me; but I 
often find comfort in commending her to God. He is 
my stronghold, and his precious promises are the com- 
fort of my life.” 

Grace did not see Mr. Woodford that morning. 
He had gone out early to find means to gratify his 
depraved appetite, and had not returned. His family 
seldom saw him wdien he was in his drinking ways, 
from the time he left them in the morning, until he 
was turned out of doors at night by the bar-keeper, 
when he was ready to close up his establishment. 

One would think it was a comfort to be rid of him ; 
but it was not to his poor wife. She was always 
anxious about him. He was very quarrelsome when 

he was drinking, and she lived in constant fear that 
F 


82 


GEOKGE AUkSTIN. 


he might get into difficulties, and into jail, as he had 
sometimes done. Abusive as he might be to her, she 
always preferred having him with her, and would 
use every inducement to keep him; but she could only 
do so when access was denied him to the shops, which 
was never done while his money held out. 

Grace felt for Mrs. Woodford’s situation, and made 
it her business to spend some hours of every day with 
her, reading the Bible to her, and talking to her of 
the Saviour’s love, and trying to minister to her 
bodily wants, as well as give her spiritual comfort. 
She taught Annie how to perform many little house- 
hold duties, and aided her in preparing suitable food 
for her mother in her invalid state. She brought 
Mrs. Woodford various delicacies such as the sick 
require, and made them more comfortable in the 
way of bedding and clothing, and hired a woman 
to do their washing; thus rendering them every 
service which it was in her power to give. She 
found her comfort in thus following in the footsteps 
of him who went about doing good. There were 
several other families to ^vhom she extended partial 
aid, but none drew so largely, neither on her sympa- 
thies nor her means, as Mrs. Woodford. 


CHAPTER XL 


MR. WITHERSPOON^S DECISION. 

rpHE spring passed with its balmy days exerting a 
genial, grateful influence after the keen winter 
frosts ; its springing grass, its buds and blossoms 
appeared ; and the earth was clothed with the garni- 
ture of summer. 

If Grace found peace and comfort, if not positive 
happiness, in the fulfillment of her daily duties ; if 
the dark blight that had fallen on her young life 
pressed less keenly because she devoted her days to 
making others happy, and banished her own sorrows 
while relieving those of others — how was it vath 
George ? Could he forget her in the society of Miss 
Reese, or any other of the city belles whom he now 
numbered among his acquaintances ? 

It was in vain that he tried to do so. He plunged 
into the vortex of fashionable society ; was foremost 
in getting up balls and parties ; spent every evening 
of his life in gay society, either at the theatre or else- 
where, and sought to banish all thoughts of Grace, as 

83 


84 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


he had long since cast aside all religious duties and 
obligations ; but his efforts to forget her were fruit- 
less. Often he would single out in a gay assemblage 
some one who would remind him of her, and his eye 
would follow, for hours, the one who bore the fancied 
likeness. Whether the resemblance was found in 
form, or feature, or carriage, it was alike fascinating 
to him. He still loved her with all the strength of 
his being. It was not only an early and long cher- 
ished affection, but she was bound to him by ties 
found in the period of his purer and happier life. 
How his memory reveled in the days when they took 
sweet counsel together, and walked to the house of 
God in company! 

Of all the intercourse which they had had together, 
their religious companionship had been the sweetest 
and the dearest. If he could only recall those days, 
he should be happy once more ; but they could come 
to him never again. He might as well seize upon 
such pleasures as were within his reach ; for between 
him and the enjoyments of a higher class which had 
once belonged to him, there was an impassable gulf. 
It was thus he reasoned. 

He was dressing one morning for a party which 
was to go out on a boating excursion. It was to be a 
large and brilliant affair, and preparations had been 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


85 


made for it on a magnificent scale. As he was nearly 
ready to join the gay group, a letter was handed to 
him from his sister Alice. She wrote; 

My Dear Brother : 

I have wanted to write to you a long time. To-day it 
rains, and I cannot go to school, and mother said I had 
better write to you. We all want you to come home again. 
Last night, at family worship, we tried to sing, “Before 
Jehovah’s awful throne,” and we just made a botch of it, 
because you were not here. Father sung bass, and mother 
the air, and I tried to sing alto ; but they just kept putting 
me out all the time. Mother said there was more music in 
father’s reading the hymn than there was in our singing it, 
and I thought so too. 

I am sorry it rains, because to-night is prayer-meeting 
night, and I want to go. I love to go to prayer-meeting, 
and I want to join the church ; but mother thinks I am too 
young. Yet I am sure I love God ; and I love the Saviour 
too, because he died for me ; and I want to be baptized be- 
cause he was, and because he said we must be baptized ; and 
father and mother both say that I may be as soon as I am 
old enough ; and I hope that will be soon. 

We have got a Sunday-school since you went away. We 
all go to the church every Sunday, and have verses in the 
Bible and say them, and learn catechism and hymns. Miss 
Emily Gordon is my teacher, and Mr. Henry Witherspoon 
is superintendent. I am always glad when Sunday comes, so 
that I can go. If you were only here you could be superin- 
tendent. I like Mr. Witherspoon very much, but I would 


86 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


rather have brother George. Then I could take hold of 
your hand when I was going and coming back. 

John studies Latin now. The baby has got two more 
teeth. Robert Sheldon fell off his father’s horse yesterday, 
and broke his arm. He was riding the horse to water. I 
am glad it wasn’t me. I shouldn’t like to have my arms 
broken. He can’t go to Sunday-school any more now until 
it gets well. Every night when I pray, brother George, I 
say a little prayer for you. Mother taught it to me. It is, 
“ Lord, bless my absent brother. Pardon his sins, and bring 
him back to the fold of the Good Shepherd. ’ ’ 

Don’t you think it is a pretty prayer ? But I told mother 
I needn’t say, “ pardon his sins,” for brother George didn’t 
have any sins ; but she said, everybody had sins. I didn’t 
think good people, like you and father and mother, ever had 
any ; but I suppose you used to have when you were little 
children. 

I have got a new dress. It is blue calico. Mother is 
making it now. Jane Sheldon has got one just like it, but 
mine is the prettiest. I have told you all the news I could 
think of. Now you owe me a letter, and I hope you will 
write it soon. 

Mother sends her love to you, and so do I and all the 
children. Your little sister, Alice. 

Poor child! She thinks I have no sins. Would 
that my heart were as pure as hers ! Such were his 
feelings as he read the artless letter. The thought of 
his giddy, aimless, useless life rose up before him. 
He said to himself; 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


87 


Henry is striving to benefit others. I am living 
for myself. Dear little Alice longs for Sunday to 
come. Already her young heart is turning to Jesus, 
while her brother is wholly estranged from him. 
'Back to the fold of the Good Shepherd.^ Would 
that I could get back. Oh, that I had never turned 
aside from the paths of righteousness. I have had 
no peace, no comfort, since I left the fold.’’ 

He threw himself on his knees, for the first time in 
months, and with passionate pleading besought God 
to pardon his sins. He sent an excuse to the friends 
who had invited him to participate in their sports. 
He was in no mood for gayety. His season of 
penitence lasted all day. He answered this letter 
of his little sister; he was brought once more under 
the beautiful influence of his home; far as he was 
from it, the memory of its peaceful calm stole over 
him, and stirred his spirit with its genial influence. 
He had permission to be absent from the office all 
day, which he had obtained in order to attend the 
pleasure excursion. He spent the entire day in his 
own room, communing with himself, and recalling 
the delights of his home. The night brought him 
tranquil slumber, but the morning’s dawn which intro- 
duced him again into the busy world, dissipated the 
better feelings that were beginning to gain the as- 


88 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


cendency, and he fell back into the old paths, though 
it was many days before the influence of the child’s 
simple letter wore ofP. 

His letters from his mother were frequent and full 
of a Christian spirit and Christian counsels; but he ex- 
pected it from her, and it did not make so deep an 
impression as the artless teachings of his little sister. 

He was not neglectful of his business. Judge 
Reese complimented him upon his proficiency in the 
knowledge of the law, and regarded him as a young 
man of great promise. He often spoke of him as 
one who would shine at the bar when he had finished 
sowing his wild oats. Compliment and flattery met 
him on all sides. His wealth and talents, and 
position and personal appearance, all combined to 
make him a favorite with the ladies, and more than 
one envied Bertha Reese what they considered her 
conquest; for the two were so much together that 
it was generally believed that they were betrothed. 
George had frequently had serious thoughts of ad- 
dressing her, but he could not overcome his love 
for Grace, and he was too honorable to deceive Bertha 
with professions which his heart did not ratify. She 
had no piety, but was completely wedded to the 
world ; and, whatever he might be himself, he wanted 
a Christian wife. He did not consider any woman’s 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


89 


character complete without religion. This was, in his 
eyes, its crowning grace. 

He was no less popular with the gentlemen. 
Genial in his nature, and free to spend his money, 
they ever found a ready coadjutor in him in getting 
up any amusement. His room was a favorite loung- 
ing place with them, and his society was eagerly sought 
after. He ought to have been the happiest of the 
happy. Everybody thought he was; and so indeed 
iie might have been had religion lent lustre to his 
other graces. If he could have quieted his conscience, 
he might have had a much larger share of enjoyment 
than now fell to his lot ; but who can hope for com- 
fort when he knows his duty, but does it not? 

We turn from him to contemplate his old friend 
and companion, Henry Witherspoon. He was less 
gifted, less brilliant, than his friend, yet he could 
measure popularity with him, though in a more 
contracted sphere. There was about him an atmos- 
phere of moral worth which commended him to 
every man’s conscience. Men called it moral worth ; 
but it was high-toned Christian character. To do 
justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with his 
God, was his great aim in life. All who knew 
him admired him. Everybody trusted him; the 
veriest child, or the most stupid servant could be 


90 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


sent to his store to deal with him. All were sure 
of even-handed justice. He was ever foremost in 
all works of Christian benevolence. Old and young 
alike looked up to him for advice. His strong 
common sense, combined with Christian principle, 
made him a counsellor to be relied upon in any 
emergency. He was a pillar in the church, the 
head and front of the Sunday-school, the leader of 
the prayer-meeting, and efficient in the choir. The 
business in which he was engaged was prosperous. 
It was an old firm. His father had established it 
in his early life, and it had long been a popular 
store. 

Henry was expecting, ere long, to be married, and 
was building a house which was to make a home for 
him and Emily Gordon. Up to this time life had 
been to him a scene of unbroken prosperity; but 
there was a cloud resting on his future calculated 
to test his faith and sorely try his soul. 

His father, as we have said, had been for many 
years an influential merchant, but had lent the use of 
his name to a man who was considered a shrewd 
business man, and up to this time had been pros- 
perous and successful. Recently this Mr. Jenkins 
had entered into some speculations that had proved 
very unfortunate, and not only swallowed up all 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


91 


his own means, but involved JVIr. Witherspoon in 
such a manner as to threaten his business ruin as 
well. The blow fell upon him and Henry with 
crushing power. The name on Mr. Jenkins’ paper 
was that of Mr. Witherspoon alone. It was given 
before he had taken his son into partnership with 
him. 

A neighbor, who had been a friend for many years, 
and who was considered an upright, honorable man, 
advised Mr. Witherspoon to withdraw himself at 
once from the firm before legal proceedings could 
be instituted, and make over his property to his son. 
His reply was : 

I shall never part with ray business integrity ; 
and even if I were willing to do so, my son w^ould 
not be party to such a transaction.” 

But it will take every dollar you have on earth, 
and your storehouse and home ; and even then the 
debt will not be liquidated.” 

I cannot help it,” he said. The party who 
accepted my name on his paper would never have 
taken it if I had not been worth this property. His 
confidence in me was based upon this very means. I 
cannot abuse that confidence. It is hard in my old 
age to be turned out, homeless, upon the world ; but 
it is the will of God, and I must bear it.” 


92 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


Poor man ! his eyes filled with tears, and his quiv- 
ering lip told how keenly he felt the blow. Henry 
said: 

‘^You shall never come to want, father, while I 
have a strong right arm to toil for you. We must do 
our duty, remembering our accountability to him who 
holds the silver and the gold. If it be his will to try 
us in the school of poverty and suffering, we have but 
to submit. ^ Even so. Father, for so it seemed good 
in thy sight.’ I am young, and, I hope, shall be able 
to retrieve myself. As in my youth we had but one 
purse between us, so it shall be in your old age. 
You may count my earnings yours, and use them as 
you like.” 

Mr. Witherspoon was comforted by the cheerful 
tone of his son, and the expression of his filial love. 
He remained long at his store talking over his situa- 
tion with his son, and the various friends who 
dropped in to advise with him. Many of them 
thought him almost insane not to adopt some meas- 
ures by which he might save, at least, a part of his 
property. They expostulated with him about turning 
his wife and daughter out of doors to pay a debt for 
which he had never had one dollar value received. 
But he claimed : 

I have in one sense had value received. I com- 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


93 


menced life with very little means ; and if some kind 
friends had not aided me with the use of their names, 
my efforts to rise might have been a failure. Hence, 
I am under a moral obligation to aid others in the 
same manner; and if my confidence has been mis- 
placed, it is my misfortune, and I must bear the con- 
sequences. Beside, I have no choice in the matter. 
I pledged my word, that if Mr. Jenkins failed to 
meet his obligations, I would meet them for him. 
He has failed, and I have got them to meet as far as 
my means will go towards discharging them. This is 
required of me, not only by my duty to God, which 
is paramount to everything else, but also in order to 
preserve my self-respect ; and, moreover, the obliga- 
tions existing between man and man demand it of 
me. I have no right to lend my aid in destroying 
the confidence which underlies the structure of so- 
ciety, and on which its security rests. Once let confi- 
dence cease to exist on earth, and society would be 
but a wreck upon a shoreless ocean.” 


CHAPTER XIL 


A SAD EVENING. 

TT was late tea time, when father and son bent 
their steps homeward, with heavy hearts. The 
father dreaded to reveal to his wife and daughter the 
utter bankruptcy which had overtaken him. After 
all, they would be the greatest sufferers. He would 
not mind privations for himself. He had been raised 
an orphan, and early taught in the stern school of 
adversity; but it had been his happiness, ever since 
he had a family, to surround them with comforts, and 
even luxuries. But now, how could they live with- 
out them ? 

They entered the cheerful room which' was used as 

their tea-room. The bright copper tea-kettle was 

humming after its prettiest fashion, on its accustomed 

triad. The table stood ready for its evening meal, 

with its spotless damask, its India china, with the 

unique figures so peculiar to it, and its bright and 

varied colors ; the shining tea service, which was ever 

kept burnished to its brightest capacity, and looked 

as if just from the makePs hands; its vase of rich 
94 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


95 


flowers, which was never wanting in the season of 
flowers; and its tempting dishes. Everything was 
the best of its kind, and arranged with taste, in order 
to make all as attractive as possible. Mrs. Wither- 
spoon sat knitting in her easy corner, and Grace was 
standing near the evening lamp, scanning the columns 
of a newspaper. She threw it aside as her father 
entered, and, as usual, took possession of his hat and 
gloves and cane; and he sat down in silence in his 
large easy-chair. As Mrs. Witherspoon rose to draw 
the tea, she said : 

You are late to-night, my dear. We have been 
looking for you this half hour. I fear you will not 
finish supper in time for prayer-meeting.” 

Both of the gentlemen had forgotten that this was 
their prayer-meeting evening, a thing unknown to 
either of them before. They looked at each other 
significantly, as if to say, ^^Can it be wondered 
at?” then took their seats, and, eating in silence, 
left hurriedly before they had disclosed the fearful 
tidings. 

Mr. Witherspoon thought it would be easier to talk 
about it after he had communed with his gracious 
Father, and sought comfort from him ; and the 
respite was grateful to him. Grace accompanied 
them as usual ; her mother was too infirm to go out 


96 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


at night; indeed, she seldom went out at all. As 
they were returning home, Grace said to her father : 

I want to. get ten dollars from you, father, in the 
morning, to use for the Woodfords. Their rent is 
due to-morrow, and they need wood, and some other 
necessary things.’’ 

He did not know how to deny her, and only re- 
plied by asking : 

‘^How is Mrs. Woodford? I have not heard you 
speak of her lately.” 

‘^She is still gradually sinking, and the greatest 
sufferer I have ever known. Dr. Frary says he can- 
not think it possible that she will last much longer, 
and I think her release would be a blessing. She is 
fully prepared for her change, and living in daily 
expectation of it. She talks of her death, and makes 
preparations for it, as calmly as if it were but an 
ordinary journey which she was about undertaking. 
Her perfect confidence in God is beautiful to behold ; 
and I shall ever esteem it one of the richest privileges 
of my life that I have been permitted to minister to 
her, and to witness the rich pleasure and satisfaction 
which faith in Christ is calculated to afford, even in 
the darkest hour. Her frame of mind daily reminds 
me of Bunyan’s Land of Beulah ; and I often sit and 
commune with her until I feel as if I were on the 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


97 


very verge of heaven, and that in leaving her miser- 
able garret I am departing from consecrated ground.” 

Where is her husband now?” 

He has gone to Albany to get work. He has 
been gone three weeks. She had a letter from him a 
few days ago, telling her that he had good steady 
employment now ; that he was not to draw any pay 
until the end of the month, and then he would come 
after her. She smiled as she said: cannot make 

him understand that my earthly journeying is over. 
I have been in bad health so long, and still linger on 
so, that he thinks I bear a charmed life.’ 

I promised her that I would be a friend to 
Annie, and see her cared for. I have been thinking, 
father, that if it met your approbation and mother’s, 
I would like to take her home with us when her 
mother dies. I could send her to school and instruct 
her in domestic duties, and in the use of her needle, 
and fit her to earn her living either in our own 
family, or in that of some one else. If I keep her 
thus under my own eye while she is young, and her 
character is forming, I could give her religious train- 
ing, which, by the blessing of God, might prepare her 
for a reunion with her mother in a better world.” 

“I must consider upon the subject before I give 

you a definite answer to this question,” her father 
G 


98 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


said, as with a heavy heart he felt that his altered 
circumstances would necessitate the drying up of the 
streams of Christian benevolence which had flowed so 
freely from the hands of every member of his family, 
and which it had been his joy to supply with liberal 
hand. 

They reached home, and, after sitting a few minutes, 
Mr. Witherspoon took the books to conduct the even- 
ing worship. After reading the Forty-sixth Psalm, he 
gave out two verses to be sung: 

In every joy that crowns my days, 

In every pain I bear, 

My heart shall find delight in praise. 

Or seek relief in prayer. 

My lifted eye, without a tear. 

The gathering storm shall see ; 

My steadfast heart shall know no fear ; 

That heart shall rest on thee. 

The prayer which followed was so fervent and 
tearful, so replete with humility, and so sorrow-laden, 
that when they rose from their knees Mrs. Wither- 
spoon and Grace felt that something had transpired 
which distressed Mr. Witherspoon, and looked at him 
inquiringly. He said : 

I have received some very sad intelligence since 
dinner. I wonder if my wife and daughter are pre- 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 99 

pared to hear what will give a serious blow to the 
happiness of their lives 

Grace, whose thoughts involuntarily reverted to 
George Austin, said : 

What can it be, father?’^ 

Your father is a ruined man, my child.” 

Ruined ! How, father ? What has happened to 
you ? ” she inquired, while her mother sat in speech- 
less astonishment. 

I have lost all my property, and we are penni- 
less.” 

Is that all, father ? ^ Shall we receive good at the 
hand of the Lord, and shall we not receive evil ? ’ 
Why, we are all well and strong, and able to work, 
except mother ; and we will take such good care of 
her, that she shall forget that you have lost every- 
thing.” 

Brave words, my child, and, thank God, I know 
they come from a brave heart; but you do not 
realize what it is to be stripped of home and com- 
forts, and have the means of support wrenched from 
your hands, and be left destitute and penniless in 
old age.” 

^‘Not our home, my husband? Surely you cannot 
mean that. How is it possible for us to give up our 
home?” 


100 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


Mr. Witherspoon explained to his weeping wife 
the situation into which he had been thrown ; and 
all his caressing kindness, and the soothing words 
of her children, were of little avail in assuaging the 
grief of her troubled spirit, which had thus, for the 
first time in her life, been called upon to face poverty 
and privation. 

My darling wife,’’ said Mr. Witherspoon, can you 
not respond to the words of our dear Grace ? ‘ Shall 

we receive good at the hands of the Lord, and shall 
we not receive evil?’ For more than a third of a 
century we have trodden together the path of life ; and 
if in all that time you have ever had a want unsup- 
plied, it has been because I was ignorant of it. God 
has given me the power, and I thank him that he has 
given me the will, to minister to your comfort ; for in 
it I have found my highest earthly happiness. No 
matter what the future may bring us, it cannot blot 
out the memory of our beautiful past. We shall not 
remain very many years longer here. The time is 
fast approaching when we shall lay aside the habili- 
ments of earth, to be clothed upon with the everlast- 
ing righteousness of Christ, and enter upon an in- 
heritance which is incorruptible and undefiled, and 
that fadeth not away. We have laid up treasures in 
a world where moth and rust do not corrupt, nor 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


101 


thieves break through and steal. Our possessions there 
are not subject to the mutations of earth. They are 
securely kept by him who has gone to prepare a place 
for us, that where he is there we may be also.^^ 

The family separated for the night, and Grace, who 
had kept up such a brave heart in the presence of her 
parents that she might cheer them, as soon as she 
reached her own room, gave vent to her feelings 
in tears. She did realize what poverty was; she had 
been brought face to face with its darkest features in 
her daily walks of usefulness; and, for awhile, it 
appeared to her more terrible than it would seem 
possible for it to present itself while she had a 
father and brother to lean upon, and such resources 
within herself by which she might earn a support. 
She knew it was wrong in her to indulge in such 
feelings, but she could not wholly suppress them. 
Yet her' bitter sorrow lasted but for a season. She 
comforted herself with her father\s words of cheer. 
She too had an inheritance which could not be im- 
paired nor imperilled by the breath of the world. 
She felt too, that she had reason to be proud of her 
father. He had explained to them fully his posi- 
tion, and shown that he was ready, without quibbling, 
to surrender the earnings of a life-time to make good 
the loss to which he had been subjected by a mis- 


102 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


guided and too ambitious friend. It was not every 
man who would thus readily yield up his all, when a 
little subterfuge and duplicity would have saved at 
least a part. Mr. Jenkins himself had suggested 
to him how he might cover up a part of his prop- 
erty ; but he scorned to do wrong. It was joy to her 
to think that her father’s Christian principle was 
strong enough to sustain him under such a severe 
and trying pressure, and that the Saviour, who was 
so often wounded in the house of his friends, would 
receive no blow through him. Then laying her 
burden at the Saviour’s feet, and thanking him 
that in her trial there were such strong elements 
of consolation, she went to her quiet rest, and slept 
sweetly and placidly as usual. 

Her mother too was more composed when she met 
her the next morning. Grace said : 

“I have been thinking, mother, how light our 
trouble is to what it might have been. Suppose the 
Lord had seen fit to send death into our circle, 
instead of poverty. How immeasurably heavier that 
would have been than this.” 

“Your father was saying the same thing to me this 
morning, and I cannot but admit the force of the 
suggestion. He is hoping now that he may retrieve 
himself, at least partially. There is no hope when 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


103 


death bears away those we love. They may be pre- 
pared for his embrace. We may feel satisfied that to 
them the exchange of worlds has been a glorious 
gain. Yet our poor, aching, selfish hearts go mourn- 
ing their loss all our days. We yearn for their com- 
panionship, and cannot be comforted, because they are 
not. Let us bless God that we are still left to comfort 
each other ; and we will try and bear this stroke of 
his rod, as becomes those who acknowledge in him a 
loving Father, who is too wise to err; too good to be 
unkind.^^ 

When Mr. Witherspoon came in to breakfast, 
Grace said : 

I scarcely know, father, whether I ought to 
renew my request about money for Mrs. Woodford. 
Yet her rent money I have promised to pay. She 
would not have been able to get the place if I had 
not.'' 

I too have been thinking," Mr. Witherspoon 
said, whether I ought to let you have it ; but if it 
is for a debt which you have promised to pay, there 
is no contingency in the matter. You are, of course, 
bound to pay it. One debt is as sacred as another ; 
but with regard to supplying her necessities, I have 
no right to give away what does not belong to me. 
Perhaps you can raise some money among your 


104 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


friends to make her comfortable. If not, I can apply 
to the town authorities. She must not be left in her 
helpless condition to suffer.’^ 

Grace went out as soon as breakfast was over and 
paid the house rent, and immediately started on her 
mission to beg for something to supply the necessities 
of her suffering friend. She succeeded in getting all 
that was needed, and was happy in having provided 
for her the comforts which she required. The future 
rent was still unprovided for. When the landlord 
had asked her if she would assume the payment of it 
for the next month, she told him she would give him 
an answer on the following morning. She waited to 
consult with her father. He told her he would see 
Mr. Austin about it; perhaps he would assume it. 
He did, and the matter was satisfactorily arranged. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


BREAKING UP THE OLD HOME. 

rriHE exasperated creditors of Mr. Jenkins, who 
lived in Xew York, came immediately to the 
village to see what effects they could find to satisfy 
their claims. According to the showing which Mr. 
Jenkins made, most of the property which he had in 
his possession belonged to his brother, and therefore 
was not subject to the debt. They sought Mr. 
Witherspoon, and he proposed to give up to them 
everything he had. He handed them a schedule of 
his property, and told them there was no necessity for 
any litigation; that all he asked of them was that it 
might be fairly appraised, and a just valuation set 
upon it. They came to him disposed to be just as 
harsh and severe with him as the circumstances 
would permit ; for they were ready to believe him to 
have been a party to the swindling transaction which 
had drawn them in so deeply. But his fair, straight- 
forward conduct won their approbation, and they 
readily yielded to his proposition to have his property 

valued by disinterested parties. It was several days 

105 


106 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


before they finished taking the account of stock at the 
store, and when they did their next business was at 
the house. Mr. Witherspoon told his wife and 
daughter that they had better go to the house of 
some friend during the unpleasant task of appraising, 
and turning over their household comforts into the 
hands of other parties. But both of them felt that 
they could not make themselves companionable to 
others at such a time, nor were they willing to subject 
themselves to any curious gaze. 

The first thing done was to set aside for their use 
the few articles which the law allowed them. A 
room was made vacant, and their scanty furniture 
placed in it. Then their several wardrobes were 
placed in the same apartment. Grace and Henry had 
each a small library, and these were turned over to 
them. A liberal allowance of table and bed linen 
was given them ; that is, what the creditors consid- 
ered liberal, though it was scanty compared with the 
abounding supplies which they had of such things. 
Then Grace claimed the silver tea service. At this 
the creditors demurred. It would make a large item. 

But it justly belongs to my daughter,’’ said Mr. 
Witherspoon. I gave it to her on her eighteenth 
birthday. I presume she can show the note which 
I sent to her when I sent it up to the house.” 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


107 


Grace was called upon, and produced the note from 
her writing-desk — which she had been allowed to 
keep — and as it fully corroborated the statement 
of her father, there was nothing more said about it. 
With these few exceptions, everything was swept out 
of their home, and they themselves were requested to 
find other quarters, or to rent this if they desired, 
provided they could give security for the rent. But 
the rent of this was too heavy. Mr. Witherspoon 
could not think of assuming it ; nor did they care to 
have so large a house, when they had so little to put 
in it. Henry was very anxious that his sister should 
retain her piano. He thought it ought to be hers of 
right. Her father had bought it for her, and it had 
always been called hers; but it had never been made 
such by any deed of gift; nor had she, as in the in- 
stance of the silver, any note to show it such. 

After the property was all appraised, and the 
diiferent estimates made, and the several valuations 
added, they were found to amount to a trifle more 
than the debt — some few hundred dollars. This 
amount Mr. Witherspoon gave his wife to redeem 
such articles as she might select from what had once 
belonged to them. Henry, still anxious that his 
sister should retain the piano which had been a 
source of so much pleasure to herself and to them 


108 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


all, purchased the instrument for her at its appraised 
value, giving his note for the amount, payable in 
twelve months. The creditors would cheerfully have 
sold back to Mr. Witherspoon his house, and all his 
furniture, on the same terms, so great was their con- 
fidence in him ; but he had no desire to assume obli- 
gations which he saw no prospect of being able to 
meet. 

This day, which had been to them all one of pecu- 
liar trial, came at length to its close, and the hour of 
family prayer found them all tearful and sad ; but 
they were comforted, as they committed themselves 
and their interests to the all-loving Father. Henry 
followed his father in prayer; for his heart was too 
full to keep silent. It was good to cast their burden 
on the Lord. 

Henry Witherspoon soon secured a position as 
clerk ; but it was at a small salary. Meantime, his 
father sought business, but could find none. Men 
did not care to give employment to so old a man. 
They wanted employees whom they could order about 
and control. His entire want of means of course for- 
bade his doing anything for himself. He secured a 
small house in the outskirts of the town, at a reason- 
able rent, and the family moved into it. It made the 
walk long for Henry, but it was the best they could 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


109 


do. The small salary which was paid him monthly 
was their only means of support. 

To the servants who had waited upon them so 
many years they gave their freedom. In doing this, 
they did but antedate by a short time the period 
when they would have been free by the laws of the 
State. They felt that they could neither afford to 
feed and maintain them, nor submit to their extrava- 
gance and waste. They frequently came back to old 
mistress, particularly the elder ones among them, and 
begged her to let them come and live with her again ; 
but she would put them off, telling them they would 
never be satisfied with her humble fare, and that she 
did not need servants to keep her small liouse in 
order ; that she and Grace could do that with great 
ease. 

But in truth they did not find it such an easy 
matter to attend to the housekeeping, when they came 
to test it thoroughly. Small as the house was, and 
limited as the means were, there was the same regular 
routine to go through with every day — the sweeping 
and dusting ; the three meals a day ; the washing and 
ironing ; the ever-recurring and multiplied cares and 
occupations which constitute the daily duties of a 
well-regulated household. Grace found that she had 
little use for her piano, for she never had time to give 


110 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


to it. But this did not disturb her so much as some 
other things. She was obliged to lay aside her sys- 
tem of self-culture, to which she had ever scrupu- 
lously devoted a part of every day. Nor could she 
find time to visit the sick and the needy as heretofore. 
True, she had nothing to give them but sympathy 
and kind words ; yet she knew that these were valu- 
able to some of those who had been the recipients 
of her bounty. 

Mrs. Woodford’s case was the most interesting on 
her list. Grace knew that Mrs. Woodford needed 
her more than any of the others, for she was gently 
passing away; and she sometimes would make time 
to go to her, even if she had to neglect other duties. 
She felt that her own faith was strengthened, and her 
inclination to murmur at her own lot lessened as she 
regarded the trials and sufferings of this dying saint. 

Grace had another trial to bear incident to her new 
position. Their new residence was so remote from 
her church, that, after a day’s fatigue, she was fre- 
quently unable to take the long walk ; and when the 
weather was very inclement, was precluded entirely 
from the privilege. 

She sought to shield her mother by taking every 
care upon herself; and the new and unusual tasks 
that she was called upon to perform, were the harder 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


Ill 


from her being so unaccustomed to them. Yet, if 
her changed lot sometimes pressed heavily upon her 
spirits, it had its comforts too. Her life was a very 
useful one. Her services were invaluable to her 
parents and her brother. Her nicely kept house, and 
well appointed table, was appreciated by them ; and 
she had a faculty for eking out their slender means, 
which seemed wonderful to them. In their presence, 
too, she appeared always cheerful and happy, and 
ready to make the best of everything ; and this was 
to her parents an unfailing source of comfort; for 
they felt their altered circumstances more for their 
children’s sake than for their own. 

Mr. Witherspoon was often depressed, sometimes 
almost discouraged, at his want of success in getting 
into business. He had always led an active life ; and 
to spend day after day in idleness was exceedingly 
irksome to him; particularly as his family needed so 
much the fruit of his labors. He was led to conclude 
that the usefulness of his life was over. 

Henry also had his share of the trial to bear. He 
had expected soon to establish a home of his own; 
and now that he was without means, and felt it his 
duty to bestow his earnings upon his father’s family, 
the time for his marriage was of necessity indefinitely 
postponed. Yet he who laid upon this family all 


112 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


their burdens threw around and beneath them the 
everlasting arms, and gave them sustaining grace. 
They were human, and subject to human weaknesses. 
They could not but feel the difference in making a 
change from affluence and ease and luxury to extreme 
poverty, even to the very limit of want. Still, the 
uniform and prevailing spirit of their minds was sub- 
mission to the will of God. When the heart is so 
influenced by divine grace as to feel that God’s deal- 
ings towards us are meted out in kindness, then afflic- 
tion wears its lightest form. Such was the spirit in 
which they met their calamities. 

They had been some months in their new quarters, 
and Grace was getting accustomed to her new duties, 
and had learned to master them with more ease, and 
thus secure to herself some leisure. One evening, 
after dinner, she went down to Mrs. Woodford’s. 
She had scarcely entered the door when she noticed a 
marked change in the countenance of the sufferer, 
wfflch was evidently the ghastly grip of death. Mrs. 
Woodford said: 

I have been so anxious all day to see you ; and 
have so hoped you would come. I thought of send- 
ing for you, but was afraid to part with Annie lest I 
should be entirely alone in the last struggle; and 
then, as you have not been here in some days, I felt 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


113 


almost certain you would come to-day if you could. 
I am nearly home, Miss Grace. I am so tired and 
exhausted, I am glad to know that the struggle is 
almost over. What a blessed change it will be for 
me to throw aside this suffering, worn out frame, and 
have my spirit clothed upon with the white robe of a 
Redeemer’s righteousness, and the new name written 
upon me which shall mark me as his own, and pre- 
pare me for a place among those who ever wait and 
worship before him. 

If you ever see my husband. Miss Grace, tell him 
it was my dying request that little Annie should be 
left solely in your charge. I know you are not able 
to maintain her, but I think she can earn her living, 
and I want her placed in some pious family, where 
she will be taught to fear God and keep his com- 
mandments. She is the child of my love, and dear to 
my mother heart; and I know that, as an orphan 
and poor, she will have peculiar hardships to endure, 
in addition to the ordinary trials which befall our 
suffering humanity; yet none of these anxieties move 
me as does the fear that she may forget God. Stand- 
ing as I do in the light of eternity, with the noontide 
brightness of a Saviour’s glory beaming around my 
bed, all earthly trials and earthly hopes seem very 
insignificant. To you. Miss Grace, I commit the 

H 


114 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


keeping of her religious interests. I hope you will 
not send her so far from you that you cannot watch 
over them. 

“And, dear Annie, I charge you to be a good girl, 
and obey Miss Grace in all things as if she were your 
mother. I give you entirely to her. Do not forget 
your mother. Remember the prayers she has taught 
you, and her many prayers for you, and lead a life 
of faith in the Son of God, that you may be prepared 
to meet me in heaven. 

“Tell my husband that my last earthly prayer was 
for him. Tell him, as he values his souPs salvation, 
to forsake his wicked companions and turn from 
every evil way; to leave the paths of sin, and follow 
Christ. Tell him I charge him to meet’’ — and with 
the unfinished sentence on her dying lips, the struggle 
commenced which set upon her tongue the seal of 
everlasting silence, and in a few minutes liberated the 
spirit, which soared away to the happy regions of in- 
effable glory. 

For the first time in her life Grace stood in the 
presence of the angel of death, as he was bearing 
away the spirit. Her heart was appalled. It was to 
her like the felt presence of the Deity, and, like her 
forefather in the Garden of Eden, she would fain 
have hid herself from that overwhelming Majesty. 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


115 


She had long known that this death was near at 
hand, and that, when it occurred, upon her would 
devolve the disposition of the remains, and the care 
of the orphan; and she had, weeks before, elaborated 
in her mind the arrangements wliich would be neces- 
sary when it should come ; yet now that she met the 
awful reality face to face, she was bewildered as she 
gazed at the stiff outlines of the deaffl, and listened to 
the shrieks and bitter wailing of the orphan, as she 
bent over and clung to the lifeless form. She felt so 
helpless; which way should she turn? Could she 
leave them there, alone, that dead mother and her 
weeping child, and go for assistance? She went to 
the door, and Providence aided her in her extremity. 
There was her faithful Polly, She was the one 
whom of all others she would have chosen to aid her. 
She called her in and begged her to stay witti the 
child and watch over the dead while she went to 
secure the necessary aid. She hired a woman to go 
and assist Polly in preparing Mrs. Woodford for her 
last resting place, and then went up to her brother’s 
place of business, and left in his hands the out of door 
arrangements. She turned her steps back to the 
miserable garret, to see that her instructions were 
being carried out. 

^^We can’t find,” said Polly, nothing fttten to put 


116 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


on her. All them things in that old box are nothing 
but rags like.” 

Well, you can go home with me, Polly, and I 
will send back by you suitable garments.” 

She begged Annie to go with her too, and stay 
until morning, promising to bring her back then ; 
but no persuasions could induce her to leave her dead 
mother, and Grace and Polly went away without her. 
The next day the funeral took place. The prepara- 
tions for the burial were simple, and the religious 
services conducted by a leading member of the church 
to which the deceased had belonged. There was no 
resident pastor of any denomination in theVillage. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE DEATH OF MR. WITHERSPOON. 

A FTER the funeral, Grace took Annie home with 
her, and did her best to comfort the poor, sad 
child. Annie soon made herself useful to them in 
taking her share of the household occupations. It 
was not their purpose to keep her with them; for 
they felt as if they could not afford the expense of 
maintaining another one, even though it was but a 
child. Grace had two or three proposals made to her 
by parties who were willing to take the orphan and 
take care of her for her services; but she begged so 
pitifully to remain with them, that Grace had not the 
heart to turn her away, and deferred making any 
arrangements until time should assuage the grief 
which was now pressing so heavily upon her. 

Meantime, he who afflicts not for his pleasure, but 
for our profit, that w^e may be partakers of his holi- 
ness, was preparing a blow for this family, once so 
favored and so blest, now so burdened with the ills 
of poverty, which was calculated to test to the utmost 
their faith in his loving kindness. 


117 


118 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


Mr. Witherspoon, who had gone out after dinner 
in his accustomed health, was, one nightfall, brought 
home to them a corpse. He was sitting in the store 
with his son, and conversing with him and some 
gentlemen who were present, when he was struck 
down with an apoplectic fit, which in a brief space 
terminated his life. He was unconscious from the 
first, and did not utter a word. To go home to his 
mother and sister with the terrible tidings was more 
than Henry could do. A friend performed the sad 
office for him, and broke the news as gently as possi- 
ble. But what can soften the awful anguish of such 
a blow? Henry soon followed with the bier which 
contained the dead, borne by the hands of sympathiz- 
ing friends and neighbors. Who can understand the 
utter desolation which rested on the household in that 
sad house? 

The family had many friends, who were quick 
with their ready sympathy; and though sympathy is 
grateful to the tired soul in such an hour, yet it is 
powerless to comfort. None but the God who deals 
the blow can give comfort under such circumstances. 
We draw a vail over their sufferings. He who 
fathoms the depths of human sorrow, and they who 
have tasted kindred grief, alone can understand it. 

Often, while about her daily tasks, and more fre- 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


119 


quently still in the sleepless nights which were ap- 
pointed unto her, did Grace say over and again to 
herself; Though he slay me, yet will I trust in 
him.’’ But how hard to trust the Lord when we 
cannot trace the reasons of his doings ! What pur- 
poses could be subserved by such a removal ? — a man 
so useful in his church, so beloved by his family, of 
such a blameless, spotless life, a living witness of 
what God’s grace could do for man, an ornament to 
society, a blessing to the world? What a void his 
absence left in the church of Christ, the prayer-meet- 
ing, the Sunday-school, not to mention the family 
who loved and revered him! We read not in the 
blessed book that God ever gave to Satan power over 
the lives of his saints. If he had, we might well 
suppose such a death to have been the work of the 
arch adversary. Yet even he, powerful as he is for 
evil, acts only by divine permission. When he was 
allowed to work out the multiplied calamities that 
befell Job, the instructions given to him were; ^^All 
that he hath is in thy power, but upon his life put 
not forth thine hand.” Blessed source of comfort 
this to the believer, that God does not suffer him to 
be wholly turned over into the hands of the destroyer 
of souls, but stretches over him his own Omnipotent 


arm! 


120 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


If the sufferings of Grace were poignant, how 
much more intense were those of her mother ! When 
such a union is dissolved by death, “’tis the survivor 
dies.” Her state of hopeless despondency was pitiful 
to witness. 

Henry, meanwhile, toiled on at his business early 
and late, consulting his employers^ interest, instead of 
his own comfort, and trying to deserve, and hoping 
to get, a more liberal compensation for his services. 
The abundant wardrobe which they had carried with 
them into their poverty was getting sadly depleted. 
The expenses of the funeral were to be met, and 
Henry had to ask the indulgence of a month’s salary 
in advance. His employers told him that was 
against their rules, but they would make an exception 
in his favor in this emergency by advancing to him 
half the amount. 

He came home to his sister, who shared his every 
anxiety, telling her how ungraciously his request had 
been received, and how paltry the pittance granted to 
him. They conferred together as to how they could 
best appropriate it. There were some family com- 
forts indispensable. Mother must have her tea and 
loaf sugar; they were out of both. The amount 
requisite to procure a mouth’s supply was counted 
out and set aside. This must positively be the only 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


121 


luxury. But there were necessary supplies to be pro- 
cured; they needed flour and meat. Money was 
appropriated for these. Henry was obliged to have 
shoes, and Annie also; and when the amount of 
money necessary for these, and a few other trifling 
things equally indispensable was subtracted from the 
amount on hand, there was not half enough left to 
meet the bills which had been of necessity contracted, 
and which had been already presented. On his way 
to business after dinner, Henry called on the different 
tradespeople whom he owed, and, paying each a small 
portion, asked further indulgence on the rest. It was 
granted by some cheerfully; by others most ungra- 
ciously. 

A few days after this, Henry was taken with what 
proved to be a severe and protracted illness. One of 
his employers called on him, and notified him that his 
salary would, of course, stop during his sickness, and 
took occasion to say, while sitting by him : 

^^We have always noticed, ever since we com- 
menced business, that as soon as we advance money 
to one of our young men, something is sure to de- 
prive us of his services. He either becomes ill, or finds 
it necessary to leave town, or something of the sort.’’ 

Henry was outraged by the covert insinuation that 
he was using duplicity, and said : 


122 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


If you doubt my veracity, and consider my ill- 
ness feigned, please apply to Dr. Frary, and see what 
he thinks about it.’’ 

Not at all ; not at all. I was only saying there 
seemed to be some fatality about it,” and the heartless 
man departed. 

The doctor pronounced Henry’s fever of a low 
typhoid type, which would probably prove obstinate. 
Grace felt as if her cup was full. What with her 
anxiety about her brother, and the straits to which 
she saw they were to be reduced for the necessaries of 
life, she was well nigh ill herself. 

She had gone up to Henry’s room to carry him 
some broth, and was arranging his pillows, and tend- 
ing on him with loving care, when Annie came into 
the room with a letter in her hands, which the post- 
man had just brought. Grace said to her brother : 

I have not a quarter in the world to pay the 
postage with.” He took the letter which she had 
dropped, and said: 

‘‘It is prepaid. There is nothing due but the 
postman’s fee, two cents. You will find some cop- 
pers in my vest pocket.” 

They were given to Annie to carry to him, and 
Grace sat down to read her letter, which was from 
George Austin. The first line which she had had 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


123 


from him since her refusal of him so long before. 
He wrote: 

Dear Grace: 

You will, perhaps, be surprised at hearing from me again 
after so long a silence, but I cannot help writing. You are 
in trouble, and I am not near you to bear it either for you 
or with you. Mother has kept me well posted in your 
affairs. She never writes to me without mentioning you. 
She told me of the heartless proceedings of Mr. Jenkins’ 
creditors, who stripped you of every comfort, and turned 
you out of doors almost wholly destitute. I could find it in 
my heart to hate them, and if I' could, to retaliate upon 
them the injuries they have done you in thus depriving you 
of home and comforts. 

Then came the news of the death of your father. Do I 
not know, dear Grace, how terrible this blow must have been 
to you? He was so good a man, and your filial affection for 
him was of so high a type. You have lost your earthly pro- 
tector. Why not let me take his place, dearest? If you 
would only give me permission to come to you and claim you 
as my wife. 

Oh, my darling, how my heart yearns to comfort you, if 
you would only give me the privilege. Say but the word, 
and I will throw around you such a shield of protecting love 
that sorrow cannot penetrate it. Let me make a home for 
you. It shall have every luxury your heai^can crave. 
Your mother, too, shall find in it a resting j^ce as long as 
her life is spared. Does not your own heart plead for me ? 
Have I not a place in your affections which is held by no one 


124 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


else? I know I once had. I am not willing to believe that 
it is not still my own. My thoughts are with you all the 
time. No matter what book I open in the office, every page 
I look at is stamped with your image. I recall our early 
happy childhood, when, hand in hand, we gathered butter- 
cups and daisies ; when I told none of my playmates where 
the best berries were to be found until I had led you to par- 
take of them. 

Have you no sacred child-memories which will plead for 
me, dearest ? But I know, I know, even while I write, what 
your answer will be. You will tell me, as you did before, 
that you cannot trust yourself with one who does not love 
the Saviour. Grace, I try to love him ; I know I ought to 
love him ; but my heart is so hard ; it is insensible to feel- 
ing ; that is, to religious feeling. It is not insensible to your 
sorrows. It bleeds for them all the time. Oh, that you 
would only allow me to administer consolation ! 

I know I am daily provoking the displeasure of my Judge. 
I go to church frequently — I cannot say regularly — and I 
seek such preaching as is most searching, and best calculated 
to rouse me ; but it has no effect. I must be candid with 
you, Grace. I could hope for no happiness in a union with 
you founded on duplicity. 

I know I have sinned away my day of grace. Do you ask 
if I am satisfied with this state of things ? Think you that 
I could possibly be? My conscience is ever accusing me. I 
try to blunt its pangs by doing good to others. I give to the 
poor with lavish hand ; but it brings me no comfort, except 
what any heart, possessing ordinary feeling, would experi- 
ence in being able to relieve the distressed. 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


125 


Grace, does it never occur to you, that perhaps your influ- 
ence might save me ? I am sure, if anj^thing could, it would 
be having the example daily before me of your pious and 
beautiful life. Dear mother depicts your cheerfulness under 
trials, and your exemplary filial affection, in glowing terms. 
If I thought you would accede to my wishes, I would come 
up myself, instead of sending this letter. If the mail brings 
me the desired answer, I shall leave the city in the next 
packet, and be with you as soon as wind and sail and stage 
can carry me. 

Tell Henry I am very anxious to see him. I cannot bear 
to have him at the mercy of such men as Brown & Bolton. 
They never gave a clerk a salary that he could live on with- 
out stealing ; and as I know he will not do that, of course, 
he is not half supported. 

I want him to commence business for himself again ; and 
if I could see him, I think I could arrange matters so that 
he could do so, with the use of my name which he could 
have as city acceptance, and some means which I could con- 
trol for him ; but if I do not come up soon I will write him 
on this subject. 

Dear Grace, how I wish you were with me ! What pleas- 
ure it would give me to show you all the sights of this great 
city ! It is teeming with objects of interest. Every phase 
of human life presents itself here. Still, I would prefer a 
home in my own little village. But if you will make my 
home, dearest, you may make it just where you please, 
either here or there. Your dear presence would constitute 
my home anywhere. I have many friends here, influential 
ones, and I could get all the business I could do. Judge 


126 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


Keese is anxious for me to form a partnership with him ; but 
I cannot form any plans until I know what your views are. 
Do write me, Grrace, at once. I shall be miserable until I 
hear from you, and perhaps more miserable when I do. 
But, my darling, do have pity on me, and heed my plead- 
ings. Life can have no joy for me without you. If I must 
have such a doom, I will exile myself. I will go where no- 
body knows me. I will cultivate an acquaintance with birds 
and beasts ; for I shall be unfit for human companionship. 
Indeed, I am that now a great part of the time. I shall 
count the hours until I hear from you. I only want one 
line, say, “ Come to me, George,” and I will fly on the wings 
of love. Surely you will not disappoint me. Grace, you 
dare not. If you should, it might prove my ruin. Already 
I have lost my hope of heaven. You will not be so cruel as 
to peril my all of earth. When you had all the luxuries of 
wealth, and a home and a father, it was dreadful to me to 
think of living without you. What do you suppose it is 
now, when I know you to be poor and suffering ? You must 
say yes to me ; my darling, you must. 

Your own devoted 
George. 

Grace handed the letter to her brother, and threw 
herself on her knees by his bedside, weeping and 
sobbing as if her heart would break. She ought not 
to listen to its seductive pleadings; but how strong 
was the temptation ! Worn down with her accumu- 
lated sorrow, penniless, and in debt, her brother so 
ill, and needing the comforts which money could pro- 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


127 


cure, and that very illness depriving them of the only 
pittance which was left to them, the fruit of his earn- 
ings. Here was wealth and luxury otfered to her, 
and, what was more, how much more, the priceless 
love of a heart upon which she could so fondly rest. 
Neither the pleadings of poverty, nor the boon of 
wealth, had the weight of a feather in her eyes com- 
pared with the longing which she had to throw her- 
self and her sorrows upon the fond heart which she 
knew to be entirely her own. She wept long and 
bitterly, and in silence communed with her God. 
The one prayer of her heart was, Teach me, O God, 
what I ought to do.’’ Perhaps, if she accepted 
George, her influence might be potent to save him ; 
her refusal might prove his ruin. How could she 
decide? 

Her brother made no comments on the letter ; he 
felt that it was a question which her own heart must 
decide, and for the world he would not bias her deci- 
sion. She rose from her knees somewhat composed, 
and turned again to her household duties. She gave 
her brother his medicine at the appointed times ; she 
prepared her mother’s dinner, and served it; and 
heard Annie recite the lessons whi6h she had given 
her as her daily task. Nothing was neglected, noth- 
ing forgotten. Then she took her writing desk, one 


]28 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


of the relics of happier days, and went into her 
brother’s room. She said : 

I have been listening for your bell, and as it did 
not summon me, I stayed down-stairs until all my 
duties were completed, and now I have come to stay 
with you until tea time; but I cannot afford to be 
idle, you know, and so I have brought my writing. 
It is a selfish occupation, too, and one that, in this 
instance, I would gladly dispense with ; but it bears 
the label, must he done, and that is one to which I 
never suffer myself to be blind.” 

^^Are you about replying to the letter you got this 
morning ? ” he asked. 

Yes,” she said, and her lip quivered as she an- 
swered. 

I would act deliberately, sister. Have you had 
time to decide what your answer should be ? ” 

Have I any choice in the matter, Henry? Is not 
my duty clear ? ” 

“ You will refuse him ? ” 

I must.” 

Poor George ! ” 

Would you have me accept him?” she said, 
eagerly, as if she needed only the slightest encour- 
agement to do what her heart was already yearning 
to do. 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


129 


“ I would have you act right. Perhaps you would 
not be happy with him.’^ 

I could be happy with him anywhere, Henry, and 
under any circumstances ; but that is not the ques- 
tion. He has sold himself to the world ; he has for- 
saken the God of his youth ; he is joined to his idols, 
and God has let him alone. Should I accept him, 
and yield myself to his influence, the weaker must 
ever succumb to the stronger. I should be plastic in 
his hands ; and while I would be willing to trust my- 
self and my happiness in his hands, I dare not trust 
my religious hopes. He indulges in none himself. 
How could I expect him to foster mine, or even to 
tolerate them ? I have one Master, even Christ. I 
can never willingly sufier any earthly love to come 
between my soul and him. If George were as he 
once was, consecrated to his blessed service, how joy- 
fully would my poor stricken heart seek the shelter 
of his love ! ” 

Her utterance was choked by tears. Henry drew 
her to him fondly and kissed her, saying : 

You have decided wisely and well, my dear sis- 
ter. Yet I feel so much for you, that I almost 
wished that you might deem it right to accede to his 
request ; but I know it is not best. My judgment 

sides with yours, though my feelings run counter to 

I 


130 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


it. There is one thing to be considered. Perhaps, 
as he has several times suggested to you, your influ- 
ence over him might lead him back into the path of 
duty.” 

“It might, Henry, and — it might not; and if it 
should not, how sad, even admitting that I still trod 
what I knew to be the path of duty, and to me 
knowing this, the only path of peace. Could there, 
then, be any blending of our two lives into one ? I 
should go to the prayer-meeting; he to the theatre. 
I should desire the society of the pious ; he of the gay 
and worldly. I should be striving to live for Christ; 
he for the world. With such different inclinations 
and pursuits, what sort of a union would it be? 
Still, if this were all, I might, perhaps, incur the 
risk ; but that which makes my duty so clear to me 
in the matter is, I know how boundless his influence 
over me would be, and I should grow to think like 
him. I must not think of it, not for a moment, lest 
my resolution waver, and I be tempted to do what 
would be so much in accordance with my feelings, but 
what I know would be wrong.” 

“You have taken no superficial views of the 
matter, my dear sister. You have looked at it in 
all its bearings, and your decision is fully in accord- 
ance with my own views. I know the Lord will sus- 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


131 


tain you in doing right. The way before us is dark 
just now, but he will, in his own time, lift the cloud 
and suffer us to journey on in a path illumined by the 
light of his countenance. We make no sacrifices for 
him but what we receive a thousand fold more in this 
world, and in the world to come everlasting life. It 
is so easy for our carnal hearts to be drawn away 
from Christ. We wrestle not alone with flesh and 
blood, but with principalities and powers. The Bible 
tells us that the world, the flesh, and the devil, are 
combined against us, and it behooves us to dispute 
with them every inch of ground, to give them no 
advantage over us, lest in finding a salient point, 
however inconsiderable, the entering wedge might be 
driven in, which, in time, would open so widely as to 
give vent to the floodgates of iniquity, whose whelm- 
ing tide would engulf the whole being in irremediable 
ruin.’^ 

It is strange to me, Henry, that any one who has 
once tasted the fullness of joy which the religion of 
Christ affords, can throw aside its restraints and will- 
ingly live without it. How can the heart that is 
changed by divine grace return to the weak and beg- 
garly elements of this world ? 

If it has indeed been changed by divine grace,” 
said Henry, it can never again be satisfied with the 


132 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


pleasures of the world; but men not infrequently 
enter the church who have no part nor lot in Christ — 
sometimes with a view to deceive others, sometimes 
they are self-deceived. They seem to run well for a 
time, but having no root in themselves, they at length 
wither away. And even he who is really the subject 
of a Saviour’s pardoning love may suffer himself to 
be led into temptation and become a backslider ; but 
we have no reason to suppose, if we believe the Bible, 
that he will be suffered to fall irrevocably. God’s re- 
claiming grace will inevitably reach after him, and 
rescue him from the power of sin.” 

Grace sat for some time thinking over their con- 
versation, and wondering to which of these classes 
George belonged, until at length she opened her desk 
and commenced her sad task. 


CHAPTER XV, 


GRACE OPENS HER SCHOOL. 

TT was no easy matter to say the right things in the 
right words. But at length, after much thought, 
Grace wrote as follows : 

No words can express to you, dear George, how grateful 
your sympathy is to me. Your letter came to me this morn- 
ing, and my grief-laden heart shed over it some sad, some 
happy tears. You would have to know how thoroughly grief 
can break down the spirit — which God forbid you should 
ever learn in the stern school in which I have learned it — 
in order to appreciate human sympathy ; and to have it from 
one whom I love so dearly as yourself, gives it a value which, 
coming from an ordinary source, it could never possess. 
You must know, George, that to me you are dearer than 
any one else on earth outside of my own family ; but blame 
me not when I tell you again that I cannot be your wife. 
The same reason which I gave you before has the same va- 
lidity now that it had then. True, the temptation to assent is 
greater now than then ; but my views of what I ought to do 
have not changed. You know that I have taken principle 
for my guide, and not inclination. This life and its surround- 
ings seems very paltry to me since I have been brought face 
to face with death. I desire to spend what time remains to 

133 


134 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


me on earth in such a way as to gain the approval of my 
Lord, that I may hear from him the welcome plaudit : 
“Well done, good and faithful servant ; enter thou into the 
joy of thy Lord.” 

Please, dear George, let this be a settled matter between 
us, and give me, what I should so much prize, your friend- 
ship. Can you doubt that I need it ? And if I am so much 
to you, would you not value mine? I think we might 
mutually comfort and benefit each other. God’s dealings 
with me are very bitter. I felt the loss of our home and its 
comforts, of course ; but as I look back upon what I called 
sorrow then, it is gladness compared with what I feel at the 
loss of my dear father. You knew him, George, therefore 
I need not write to you of his worth ; but his character 
never shone with such lustre as it did when he was suffering 
adversity. He was so patient under trials. It was a very 
bitter thing to him to see the earnings of his life-time swept 
away, and his family left penniless, and he too old to retrieve 
himself; but I know that he is with Jesus now, and has 
taken possession of the mansion prepared for him from the 
foundation of the world. Where he dwells now no sorrow 
enters ; and, best of all, no sin can come. He has joined the 
angelic choir, whose blest employment it is to chant the 
Saviour’s praises. They rest not day nor night, and they 
have the Lamb who is in the midst of the throne to feed 
them, and to lead them to living fountains of water, and 
God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. 

Can I wish him back to taste the sufferings of this sin- 
cursed earth ? Alas, my selfish heart, how hard it is for me 
to give him up, even knowing, as I do, how immeasurably 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


135 


superior his happiness is to what it could ever have been on 
earth ! My grief at his loss, intense as it is, is heightened by 
the knowledge of what my mother suffers. You would 
scarcely know her, G-eorge, if you were to see her ; her 
bright, cheerful smile is gone, and her interest in life is 
over. 

My household cares press heavily upon me, particularly 
now that Henry is sick. He is confined to his bed, and in 
the doctor’s hands ; and I am sole nurse day and night, while 
my other duties intermit not. His symptoms are typhoid, 
and I make myself very miserable about him. If the Lord 
should take him too, I should be bereft indeed. He says I 
must thank you for your kind offer ; that he will write you 
when he gets well. 

I feel very much for you, George, in your unhappy state 
of mind. I wish I could comfort you, but I have nothing 
new to say to you. I can only commend you to God and the 
word of his grace. You write of trying to purchase peace 
of conscience by the performance of good deeds. My dear 
friend, how can you so mistake the teachings of the Bible ? 
Nothing can give you the peace you seek, but an application 
of the blood of Christ. This is free to you, if you will but 
seek it prayerfully, believingly, persistently. But I will desist 
on this subject, lest I weary you ; for it is merely reiterating 
what I have said before. 

Our altered circumstances have thrown a blight over my 
dear brother’s future. His marriage was to have been con- 
summated before this, and now there is no telling when it will 
take place. Dear Emily is as sweet and lovely as she can be, 
and bears her disappointment very cheerfully. She is with 


136 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


me often, and her sympathy is very soothing to me. Her 
mother says it is well that something has deferred the 
marriage, for Emily is so young; and she thinks her 
daughter will be much better fitted for her position a year 
or two hence. It is time I was getting tea for mother, and 
making Harry comfortable for the night ; so I must close. 

As ever, your friend, 

Grace. 

Some weeks passed, and Henryks illness was still 
protracted. Grace was wearied and worn with her 
exhausting toils, and disquieted beyond measure with 
thoughts of how the family was to be supplied with 
necessaries. They had friends who would cheerfully 
have ministered to their wants, if they had been made 
known; but she was so keenly sensitive about her 
poverty that she was constantly trying to conceal it. 
Above all, she deemed it necessary in her brother’s 
feeble state to keep him in ignorance of the straits to 
which she was reduced. She had taken the last flour 
from her barrel, and was obliged to have more that 
very day. She hurried through the dinner prepara- 
tions, and then went to her room to ask help from 
God. After serving their simple meal, and eating it, 
she again sought God’s aid in her extremity, and then 
took the tea urn from her silver service, and, placing 
it in a basket, after wrapping it up carefully, she took 
it on her arm, and went with it to Mr. Hancock, who 


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Page 137 





GEORGE AUSTIN. 


137 


kept a jeweler^s store, and asked him to purchase it 
from her. He told her that he could not afford to 
buy it, and give her the worth of it ; indeed, he did 
not want it at all, as he knew he should not be able 
to sell it again. He said no one bought so expensive 
an article as a fragment; that if any one wanted that 
they would want the entire set. The next question 
was : 

‘^What will you give me for the set? I do not 
want to part with it, but I am obliged to have money. 
It was my father’s gift,” she said, as her voice trem- 
bled with emotion. 

“ Miss Witherspoon,” Mr. Hancock replied, I 
will lend you twenty dollars, and keep the urn, if 
you are willing, as security ; not but that I know you 
will pay me when you can, but it is better to do 
things in a business like way.” 

Grace gladly acceded to his kind offer, and left the 
store feeling her mind relieved of a load of care. 
Twenty dollars had never looked like so much to her 
before. She bought some little delicacies for Henry, 
and went to the grocer’s and ordered some supplies, 
and returned home with a heart much lighter than 
that with which she had departed a few hours before. 

Some few evenings after this, on retiring for the 
night, she remained long awake thinking of their des- 


138 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


titute conditioD, and their entire dependence upon 
Henry, and he sick and unable to earn anything, 
though he was now a little better, and hoping that he 
would soon be out. Still he was so feebLi, she knew 
it would be some time before he was strong enough to 
go to business ; and when he did, he was to work out 
first of all the money which Brown & Bolton had ad- 
vanced to him; and then their bills, which were still 
to be met, must be liquidated. 

She tried, as she had frequently done before, to de- 
vise some means by which she might aid in over- 
coming the difficulties of her position, when suddenly 
it occurred to her that perhaps she might teach 
school. A vast amount of money had been spent on 
her education. Why might she not make it available 
to yield her money ? Then she had dedicated her life 
to usefulness, and this would be a field in which she 
might benefit others. She thought of different parties 
who would be almost certain to patronize her, and of 
a room in the yard which had been built for an office, 
which would answer her purpose very well. This 
was the very season of the year to commence such an 
undertaking ; and the plan seemed so feasible to her, 
that she already began to count the gains which 
would result from it. 

She would earn enough to support herself and her 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


139 


mother, and let Henry appropriate his earnings to 
his own use, so that he might be able the sooner to 
settle himself in his own home. The greatest diffi- 
culty which she saw in the way of carrying out her 
plan was, to decide how the housekeeping and clean- 
ing, and cooking could be done, if she gave her time 
to the school-room. Could she do all? She must 
try. She had little Annie with her. She would teach 
her to be more useful in performing household avoca- 
tions. She was always willing to do anything for 
Grace. She was so averse to leaving her that she 
was anxious to please her in everything, in the hope 
that she would not send her away. Grace slept very 
little that night, and arose in the morning, full of her 
new project. After she was released from the duties 
of the breakfast table, she went to her mother’s room 
and laid the plans before her. 

‘^It would be perfect drudgery to you, my child. 
I cannot suffer you to attempt it,” her mother replied. 

‘‘But, mother, we must have the means to live, 
and it will not do to appropriate all of Henry’s earn- 
ings. He needs them himself. When will he ever 
be able to marry, if we spend all that he makes ? ” 

“ We need not spend all. I am sure our plain 
manner of living does not cost much.” 

“Mother, our living is plain, it is true, as far 


140 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


as table comforts are concerned. The expenses of 
the table bear a very small proportion to what they 
once did, but so does the income; and beside supply- 
ing the table we have house-rent, and fuel, and lights, 
and other incidental expenses, which require more 
means than you would suppose.’^ 

The truth was, that Mrs. Witherspoon knew noth- 
ing about household economy, nor the management 
of finances, any- way. Her helpers formerly were 
well-trained servants, and her husband had always 
kept her larder abundantly supplied with everything 
necessary for a bountiful table. The mistress of the 
family had little conception of the amount of money 
which had been spent upon the family, and as little 
knowledge of what was absolutely necessary to keep 
them in even common comforts. She did not like to 
think her delicately nurtured child should have to 
toil for a living. It did not occur to her that all the 
drudgery of the house was falling upon her, and was 
as laborious and wearing as teaching would be, and 
even more so. 

What does Henry say to this wild scheme?” she 
asked. 

I have not told him of It yet, mother. I wanted 
to get your consent first. It will be time enough 
then to get his.” 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


141 


^^Well, you must see what he says, and then we will 
talk more about it.” 

Grace left her and went to Henry. He was sitting 
up that morning, for the first time. She congratulated 
him upon being able to leave his bed, and the fact 
that he was so put them both in good spirits. After 
discussing family affairs for a while, and the news of 
the morning, Grace laid before him her views and 
plans about teaching. Henry strongly opposed her 
attempting it. He said ; 

‘‘I can never consent to it. We cannot do without 
you. Who would take care of mother, and who 
would keep house for us? If you were to teach, we 
should be compelled to keep a servant, whose wages I 
would cheerfully pay ; but then all you could make, 
and I too, would not sustain the family, when her 
wastefulness was added to the necessary expenses. 
If you had aided father as many years as I have in 
laying in family supplies, and helped to balance the 
accounts, you would be astonished at the difference in 
our expenses now and then.” 

^^I do know something about that, brother; but I 
do not intend to keep a servant.” 

‘‘It would be impossible for you to perform the 
duties that used to keep four servants busy, as you 
are doing now, and teach school besides. To see you 


142 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


exhausted as you are with your daily tasks, worries 
me all the time, and I am very unwilling to have you 
add to them. I would prefer to see them diminished.” 

You over-estimate my services in the family,” 
Grace said. ‘^You must remember that when it 
took four servants to make us comfortable, our 
household was much more extensive than it is now. 
I think that Annie and I together will be able to 
keep all comfortable, and still give me time to 
teach.” 

She reasoned with him, and begged his permission 
to try it. She said that she would show him that she 
was adequate to perform all that she proposed. She 
told him that her mother had opposed her on different 
grounds — that she saw no necessity for an increase of 
their income. They smiled at their mother’s happy 
unconsciousness of their struggles. At length Grace 
wrung from him a reluctant consent. Since her 
heart was so bent upon it, he yielded. 

Grace then went back to her mother and told her 
that Henry was willing for her to make a trial, and 
see what she could do in the way of teaching. Mrs. 
Witherspoon looked at her with unbounded surprise, 
and said: 

did not suppose that Henry would listen to it 
for a moment.” 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


143 


“Now that he has, mother, I want you to give me 
a God-speed. 

“Well, as you please, my child.’’ 

Grace went out to seek patronage that very day. 
She could hardly wait with patience to perform what 
she knew to be necessary duties. She called on some 
half a dozen families in the course of the day, and 
before she returned home her ardor had somewhat 
cooled. One thought she ought to take boys and 
girls both, because they had a little girl that they 
wanted to send with her brothers. The next one 
was opposed to sending her daughters where boys 
went — it made them so rough and coarse. Another 
thought the distance would be an objection. She 
would like to send her children to school, but wanted 
to have them go so near home that they could come 
in during recess and get something to eat. There 
was no school near her now, but perhaps there might 
be, some time. One thought her terms too high — a 
new beginner must not expect to charge as much as 
an old established school. Then, when she suc- 
cumbed in this matter, another thought her terms 
too low — it would give her school such a plebeian 
character. Everybody was ready to discourage her 
undertaking. She was so young and gentle. Did 
she not think the scholars would take advantage of 


144 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


her, and manage her? She had had no experience in 
teaching, and it was not every one who was qualified 
for the office. It required a peculiar gift. All this, 
and more of the same kind, she was obliged to listen 
to with patience. Evening came, and she was com- 
pelled to desist for that day; and she had not a single 
scholar engaged. She had to confess to her mother 
that no one had really promised to patronize her, 
though she concealed from her the knowledge of 
the chilly, repulsive manner in which her proposition 
had been met. In the morning she was joyous and 
full of hope, in the evening she was depressed, and 
almost ready to despair of doing anything; but 
the more she thought about it the stronger her 
resolution was to make a thorough trial before she 
gave it up. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MBS. Austin’s letter to george. 

rriHE next day Grace got ready to go out earlier in 
the day, and renewed her efforts to get scholars. 
She was not so hopeful as she had been previously, 
but, as it proved, she met with better success. She 
hesitated about applying to Mrs. Austin, because she 
knew her to be perfectly suited with the school which 
her children were attending, and she could not expect 
her to take them away in order to patronize her. 
She thought, however, that she would go in and 
see her, and tell her what she proposed doing, as she 
always found a sympathizing friend in her. Mrs. 
Austin approved of her attempt, and gave her more 
encouragement than any one else had done. She felt 
very much for Grace. She knew how difficult it 
must be for them to live with no income but Henry’s 
paltry salary. She would gladly have aided the 
family long before this if she could have devised any 
way of doing so without hurting their feelings. She 
proposed giving her all three of her children who 

were going to school, as her scholars. Grace said; 

K 145 


146 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


But your son is studying Latin, and I do not feel 
myself competent to teach that.” 

“Why not? You used to keep up with George 
when you were studying Latin together. Indeed, he 
used to think you excelled him. I have often heard 
him say, when he was puzzled as to the derivation of 
a Latin word, I will wait until I see Grace, and ask 
her.” 

“ I did feel myself competent,” said Grace, “ to 
teach almost anything that might be required, until 1 
commenced my applications for patronage yesterday ; 
but I have fallen very much in my own estimation 
since then. Scarcely any one seems to think I have 
any capacity at all, and I begin to doubt it myself.” 

“You remember,” Mrs. Austin said, “the Bible 
axiom, ‘ It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer.’ 
As soon as your services were in the market, those 
who wanted to purchase them began to depreciate 
them. You must not think of making your terms 
less than those of others who are teaching here; by 
this means you would only excite their ill-will ; and 
they would have reason, too, to be displeased if you 
were underbidding them ; but come out as an honor- 
able competitor, and they will have no cause for 
jealousy. I shall tell Mr. Davis my reason for re- 
moving my children from his school. He is a gentle- 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


147 


man, and will, I know, appreciate my motives, and 
have no hard feelings in reference to the matter. I 
am fully satisfied with his system of teaching and his 
management, and the progress which the children are 
making ; but then I believe that you will be equally 
faithful and efficient; and as Mr. Davis has more 
scholars than he knows well what to do with, and you 
are a beginner, and need patronage, I cannot hesitate 
for a moment as to what I ought to do, even if you 
were not the dear friend to me which you are.’^ 

Mrs. Austin tried to keep Grace with her until 
after dinner, but she was obliged to go home to attend 
to her brother and her mother ; and they separated, 
after having made an appointment to meet at two 
o’clock, when Mrs. Austin told her she would go out 
with her and aid her in her efforts. The result of 
her influence was, that before night Grace had the 
promise of fifteen scholars, with which she felt that 
she could make a very fair beginning. 

Now a new difficulty arose in her mind. She must 
have some school-room furniture, and where was the 
means to come from to procure it ? She had not as 
yet spent the half of the twenty dollars which she had 
received by pledging her tea-urn; but then, if she 
used that, what would the family do for supplies ? for 
she could not expect anything from the school under 


148 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


three months, nor from Henry’s services very soon, 
of course. She thought the matter over, and, as 
usual, in all her difficulties, made it a subject of 
prayer, and decided that she would appropriate a part 
of this money to the purchase of some simple benches 
and desks, and trust the Lord to supply their wants 
when this should fail; and the lines which had so 
often comforted her arose in her mind — 

For he who feeds the ravens, 

Will give his children bread. 

On the first of the month, when her school opened, 
Mrs. Austin’s children, when they came in, gave her 
a note containing the amount of the quarter’s tuition 
for the three, saying that as it was necessary to have 
her school-room fitted up, and as sickness in the 
family must have caused her to incur heavy expenses, 
she thought perhaps she might be glad of the tuition 
in advance. 

“It is the grapes of Eschol,” she said to her 
brother, as she went to the house to show him the 
means of living which they so much needed. “And 
it is a direct answer to prayer. Can I ever distrust 
God again when he is so good to me?” 

Henry shared her gladness; for his anxiety about 
their immediate future had been greater even than 



I 




I 







i 







(toorgc Austin 


Page U9 





GEORGE AUSTIN. 


149 


her own — he was so feeble and helpless. Little as he 
liked the idea of having her subject herself to added 
toils, he could not but feel that, though her labors 
would be greater, her comforts would be multiplied 
by the fruits of her exertions, and in this manner her 
happiness promoted. 

Grace devoted herself to her school with her accus- 
tomed energy. She found that she had no idle time. 
She was up long before it was light every morning, in 
order to secure leisure for her daily devotions. The 
breakfast was prepared by her own hands, and her 
mother’s room put in order, and every arrangement 
made about the dinner, except the actual cooking of 
it, before she went into her school-room ; then it was 
Annie’s province to clear away the breakfast table, 
and put that room in order before she went to her 
studies. She rarely had more than two hours to de- 
vote to her books in the morning, before she left the 
school-room to make the fire for dinner and cook 
what Grace had already prepared. She proved an 
apt scholar in this department; and by the time the 
noon recess was given, the dinner was nearly ready to 
be served. Thus, by management and method, 
everything moved on as if by clock work. 

Henry regained his health, and went back to the 
firm to whom his obligations were due, and remained 


150 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


with them for two months longer, when he had the 
pleasure of commencing business for himself, though 
in a small way. 

When Brown & Bolton found out he was thinking 
of leaving them, they were very much chagrined. 
He had been too faithful to their interests, and dili- 
gent in the management of their affairs, for them to 
part with him willingly. They represented to him 
the risk he incurred in attempting to work with bor- 
rowed capital. If he should fail, it would be no loss 
to him, but to the friends who had aided him. How 
would he feel to see others suffer for his want of suc- 
cess ? They knew that this would be his most vul- 
nerable point, and for this reason they relied mainly 
on it to dissuade him from the undertaking. When 
they found their arguments were of no avail, they 
proposed to raise his salary, making their offers more 
and more liberal, until at length the amount they 
proposed to give him more than doubled what they 
had hitherto paid' him. This had no effect upon 
Henry, except to increase his contempt for the men ; 
for it was a tacit acknowledgment on their part that 
they had had his services all this time for half what 
they were worth, because his necessities had compelled 
him to accept this rather than nothing, and no other 
position opened before him. 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


151 


George Austin’s early and strong friendship for 
Henry led him to put forth efforts on his behalf. 
Many letters had passed between them, back and 
forth, which resulted in the business arrangement that 
Henry was about entering upon. Henry, as soon as 
possible, had a store rented, and, not long after, his 
goods arrived. His heart was full of gratitude and 
thanksgiving to God, when he entered what he could 
call his own store once more, and commenced opening 
his merchandise and preparing for the business that 
he anticipated. 

George Austin would not admit, even to himself, 
that, in his efforts to help Henry, he was actuated by 
any desire to make Grace more comfortable. He 
thought he was too much provoked with her to show 
her kindness in any way; yet his attempts to foster 
auger towards her were perfectly futile. He could 
not but respect and admire her the more for persist- 
ing in what she deemed to be right. It was a devo- 
tion to principle, as rare to find as it was beautiful to 
witness. He was thinking strongly of carrying his 
threat into execution, and exiling himself from his 
native land. He was negotiating about a voyage to 
the East Indies; and wrote to his mother to that 
effect ; and her earnest pleadings with him not to go, 
which were poured forth from the fullness of an 


152 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


aching heart, led him to abandon the project. She 
wrote to him : 

How can you think of such a thing, my dear son ? To be 
a whole year away from us before we would be able to get 
any tidings from you ; to expose yourself to the discomforts 
and the perils of six months at sea ; to go among a people 
of strange customs and a strange language, where neither 
business nor interest calls you; to forsake your parents 
whose hearts are so bound up in you — what can have put 
such an idea into your head? I hope, my dear boy, you 
will at once discard it. Your letter, so full of gloom and 
melancholy, makes us miserable. What more can we do, 
George, to make you happy? One would think you had 
everything that heart could wish. Your father denies you 
nothing. Before you commenced earning money for your- 
self, he supplied you with all you wanted ; nor has he ever 
instituted any inquiries as to what you did with it since you 
became old enough to manage for yourself. If you need 
anything now, you know very well you have only to ask 
for it. 

You write us that you have plenty of friends. Judge 
Reese writes that you are a favorite with every one, and that 
he wishes to retain you with him ; and you know your father 
would be glad to have you return to his office. Thus, with a 
choice of homes and with friends everywhere, you talk of 
expatriating yourself from friends and kindred and country. 

Oh, if I could only see you happy once more, my child ! 
There is no comfort for a mother when her child is suffering. 
How gladly, if she could, would she herself bear the load ! 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


153 


If all the allurements and pleasures of a gay city have palled 
upon your appetite, as you say, how do you suppose the 
time would pass on ship-hoard, where for months you would 
see no living being, except the chance companions of your 
voyage, whom you might or might not find agreeable as 
messmates ? 

Then suppose you were to be sick, who will take care of you, 
or minister to your relief? I beg you will discard the wild pro- 
ject at once. Why not come home, George, if only for a 
visit? We are all so anxious to see you. The children, 
every time I write, beg me to tell you to come. They are 
highly delighted with their new school. Grace is a great 
favorite with them all, as she is with everybody. Her school 
is flourishing. She has twenty-five scholars now, but I fear 
she is overtasking herself She has grown thin and pale ; 
and though she always talks cheerfully, yet there is a shade 
of sadness about her all the time. It is wonderful how 
much she accomplishes. She does all the housekeeping, and 
most of the work of the family, and teaches school, and 
never puts out any sewing. 

She is always at the Sunday-school when the day comes 
around, and at the church and the prayer-meeting. One of 
the school exercises is a Bible lesson, and the children get 
very much interested in it, and report it to me every even- 
ing. She seems to have a faculty for imparting knowledge 
as well as for gaining the affections of the children. How is 
it, George, that you and she do not correspond? You used 
to be such good friends, and now you live so estranged from 
each other. It cannot be that you have deserted her be- 
cause of her poverty. This would not be like you, and I 


154 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


cannot suppose it for a moment ; yet I wonder at your 
estrangement. Have you found another sweetheart ? I am 
led to think so. I wish you would marry. I am sure you 
would be happier ; and any one whom you might love would 
soon be dear to us. You would find both your father and 
myself prepared to give her a child’s welcome into the 
family; though we have both hoped for many years that 
Grace might be the favored one. We do so love her and 
consider her so lovely ; but, of course, if she is not your 
choice, we have nothing to say. 

I hope, dear George, you will abandon the idea of leaving 
the country, and marry, and make a home for yourself, 
either in New York or here, wherever you would be best 
satisfied, though of course we would prefer it here. Your 
father said he would write you this evening ; but I will close 
my letter, and mail it now. It will have one mail the start 
of his. With fondest love, my child, I am as ever, your 

Mother. 

George was very much surprised to learu, as he 
did, from the tenor of his mother’s letter, that she 
was ignorant of what had passed between himself 
and Grace. It seemed to him strange, when they 
were so intimate, that she had. not been made ac- 
quainted with the particulars. He had supposed 
that Grace acted with his mother’s sanction. George 
replied to his mother’s letter immediately, saying; 

Your letter and father’s, mailed on two consecutive days, 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


155 


came to me this morning. As yours was the earlier date, I 
reply to it first. You may set your heart at rest, mother, 
about my East India trip ; although I had been making 
preparations for going, and had really set my heart upon it ; 
but I cannot do what is so contrary to your wishes. I will 
therefore abandon the idea. Dear mother, until your letter 
came I did not deem you so ignorant of my inner life. You 
speak of my marrying as if you thought it possible that I 
could marry any one but Grace. How hard I have tried to 
persuade myself that I could ! There is no vanity in my 
saying that I could marry, any day. There are dozens of 
pretty and attractive girls, many of whom would probably 
marry any man of my wealth and position, no matter what 
he might be in himself. This is why there is no self-conceit 
in supposing that I could marry. But I have only one wife 
in the world, mother ; and that is Grace. If I cannot get 
her, I must live alone. You cannot know, mother, that 
Grace has refused me again and again — that she persists in 
refusing, though I have plead with her to accept, with all the 
eloquence of love ; and though I have offered her, not only my 
boundless love, but wealth, and ease, and luxury, and a 
choice of homes, and a home for her mother ; while on the 
other hand she has only poverty and struggles for her daily 
support ; the care and training of everybody’s and anybody’s 
children, which I fear will ruin her temper, if it can be 
ruined. I am sure it would spoil mine. I cannot bear to 
think of her subjected to such drudgery, and she ought to be 
mine ; but I cannot make her think so. She does not say it 
in so many words, but the spirit of her letters is that she 
chooses rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, 


156 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season. She fears 
that I will taint her with my unbelief. But if she supposes 
that I would use any influence over her which would militate 
against her religious faith — she does not know me. Grod 
knows I am suffering too terribly in my own heart for my 
want of faith in God, to be willing to see her thrown into the 
same pool of desolation. 

You know, mother, how much I love money, that is, love 
it for its uses ; how necessary it is to my comfort to ha\'e 
plenty of it ; yet I tell you the truth when I say that I would 
cheerfully give every dollar I have in the world, either in 
possession or reversion, if I could have my religious hopes 
restored to me ; and does Grace think for a moment that I 
would seek to deprive her of that, which is to every char- 
acter, and particularly to a woman’s, its crowning grace? 

No, mother, wicked as I am, I could never love any 
woman who had no piety. She is a monster in my eyes — an 
anomaly. Dear mother, you always had great influence over 
Grace ; will you not use it on my behalf? But I know it will 
do no good. Oh, if I could only say to her, “ Grace, I love 
the Saviour, his word is sweet to my taste, and his service 
the joy of my life,” then, indeed, might I hope that she 
would listen to my pleadings and accept my proffered vows. 
But this can never be. The fearful curse of an angry God 
rings ever in my ears. 

It is not strange if I go great lengths in seeking worldly 
pleasure, for I can hope for no enjoyment beyond this world. 
You beg me to come home, if only for a visit. I should 
have been there long ago, but that I feel I cannot meet 
Grace. To gaze upon her loveliness and feel that she can 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


157 


never be mine ; to feel that between me and her there is a 
great gulf which cannot be bridged — is more than I can bear. 
To get as far from her as possible, and to get away from my- 
self as well, was what induced me to think of going to the 
East Indies. I thought perhaps the new scenes that I 
should enter upon would draw me out of myself and make 
me forget my sorrows. 

I was at the Oliver Street Church, last evening, to hear 
some young men give an account of their Christian experi- 
ence, and went again this morning and saw Mr. Cone baptize 
them and several others. They have a baptistery in the 
middle aisle of the church, just under the pulpit, situated so 
that all can witness the rite. The church edifice was 
crowded to its utmost capacity ; and Mr. Cone’s remarks 
were so appropriate, and so full of feeling, there was scarcely 
a dry eye in the house but mine ; but my heart might have 
been stone as far as feeling was concerned ; for it was per- 
fectly impervious to what was said, and to the ordinance, 
once so significant and beautiful to me. I have said and felt 
that I envied no man his feelings who could witness without 
emotion this ordinance, which, as administered by our 
church, is so solemn and so significant. I cannot help still 
calling it our church, though I do not belong to it, and never 
shall again. It produces in me no emotion now, though God 
knows my feelings are anything but enviable. 

This church has been open for service now every night for 
the last two weeks, and many conversions have taken place. 
I have attended the services very regularly, and have seen 
many bowed down with grief on account of sin. I have fan- 
cied I could almost see on the countenances of the penitents 


i 


158 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


the agonizing cry, “God be merciful to me a sinner.” I 
have watched those same faces when they were radiant with 
the hope of pardoned sin — have heard their triumphant 
songs of praise to him whose blood had cleansed them — yet 
I felt no answering throb of joy at their release from Satan’s 
power, and their introduction into the kingdom of Christ. 
That sight which produced joy in the presence of the angels 
of God, made no impression on my hard heart. Is it not 
strange, mother, that I can have feeling on all other sub- 
jects, but none where my soul’s interests are concerned? 
The most powerful preaching affects me not. The most 
vivid illustrations of God’s dealings with sinners have for me 
the interest of a curious picture, nothing more. It is fearful 
to be so given over to hardness of heart. Yet Grace thinks 
I would draw her into the same deep, dark abyss. But no ; 
I would sooner see her dead before my eyes, than to see her 
with a heart as callous as mine. 

Give my love to father, and to the children. Tell father I 
will write to him in a few days ; and tell Alice I answered her 
last letter long ago. I think it is time she wrote me again. 
I would ask you to pray for me, mother, but I know that 
prayers cannot avail me. I am outside of the pale of God’s 
mercy. If you knew how terribly this knowledge presses 
upon me, I am sure you would pity your poor erring son, 

George Austin. 

Mrs. Austin shed many bitter tears over this 
letter ; still, she was gratified that George had opened 
his heart to her so fully. It was the first time he 
had done so since he left them ; indeed, since that 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


J59 


unhappy day, when goaded by the jeers of his young 
companions upon being amenable to a master, as they 
were pleased to term his accountability to the church, 
he had severed his church relations. How could she 
comfort her child ? Ought she to intercede for him 
with Grace ? Her own heart told her that Grace was 
right. Mrs. Austin could appreciate her motives, and 
honor her for her adherence to her views of duty. 
But what could she say to her son ? Should she tell 
him that Grace was right? This might chafe him, 
and close up the confidence which had just opened to 
her. She would talk with her husband about it, and 
act in accordance with his ever clear judgment. On 
this she could always rely. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


HENRY S NEW HOUSE. 


S time passed on, Henry’s business began to grow 



in importance. His old customers returned to 
him, and, with the aid of their liberal patronage, he 
was able to meet his obligations, and gradually to in- 
crease his stock, until he was in a position to compete 
with his fellow merchants. His suavity of manner, 
and disposition to oblige others, had always made him 
a favorite ; now that his misfortunes commended him 
to notice, he was patronized more than ever. He 
urged Grace to give up her school now, and depend 
on his exertions, which had become adequate to their 
support. He plead with her that her health was fail- 
ing; that she had lost the plumpness and ruddiness 
of her youth ; that she was growing old before her 
time ; that her multiplied labors were too exhausting 
for her ; that the toils of the household were sufficient 
for her strength. But she would not be persuaded. 

Her school had become flourishing, and she was 
interested in it, aside from the profit arising from it. 
She had been able to add to her mother’s stock of 


160 


GEORG K AUSTIN. 


161 


comforts ; had redeemed her tea-urn, and restored it 
to its proper place; and, best of all, she had funds 
always at her command for benevolent purposes. It 
had been one of the severest trials of her lot of pov- 
erty that she had lacked the means to relieve the dis- 
tresses of the indigent. Now this was in a measure 
removed. She knew that her brother would cheer- 
fully supply her necessities, and give her as freely as 
he was able the means to gratify her charitable pro- 
pensities; but she could never feel willing to spend 
his money as freely as she would her own ; and, more 
than this, she wanted him to lay aside his earnings to 
make a home for himself. She knew that he earn- 
estly desired to consummate his union with Emily, 
now so long deferred ; and she felt that it was due to 
her, no less than to himself, that he should be re- 
leased from the obligation of supporting a sister, that 
he might be able to maintain a wife. 

The house he had commenced so long ago stood in 
its incompleteness, just as the workmen had left it 
when he discharged them, telling them that he was 
no longer able to carry on the work, which he did 
immediately after his failure. The lumber that had 
been accumulated for building purposes was getting 
injured by time. So Grace told Henry that he must 
let her continue her school, and use the means for the 


162 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


family as far as they would go, and he could appro- 
priate his earnings towards the completion of his 
house. He said : 

Emily would never share it with me, I am afraid, 
if I were to neglect the comfort of my mother and 
sister in order to build it.’’ 

It will not be neglecting our comfort, brother, 
but promoting it, to see you engaged in preparing a 
home of your own.” 

Though Henry was the elder of the two, he often 
found himself looking up to Grace for her advice and 
leaning upon it. He sat and conferred with her some 
time about the ways and means to carry out this pro- 
ject which was so near his heart, but which he had 
not begun to think about attempting. She suggested 
to him to finish the main body of the house, now well 
under way, and leave the projected wings for some 
future time. She said : 

In your altered circumstances, you will not need 
so large a house as you had intended building ; nor, 
if I were you, would I finish it as elaborately as you 
proposed doing at first.” 

She laid before him plans to carry out what she 
had suggested, which were perfectly feasible, and he 
could see that they were so as soon as they were pre- 
sented. His heart was all aglow with pleasurable 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


163 


excitement, as he contemplated the near fulfillment of 
his wishes. 

‘^Dear Grace,” he said, ^^you are the guardian 
angel of us all. How sad that the love of your heart 
must be suppressed, and you be left to tread a lonely 
path in life.” 

For a moment she was overcome by her feelings, 
then, trying to smile through her tears, she said : 

^^We must not talk about that, Henry. I do not 
suffer myself to think about it. I daily try to find 
my happiness in promoting that of others. If my 
lot in life must be a lonely one, it is such as my 
Father has appointed unto me. He knows what dis- 
cipline is best for me. It is a comfort to me to know 
that it is all ordered by Infinite Wisdom, and that 
God will work out in me and by me his own pur- 
poses of love and mercy. It becomes me not to find 
fault with his dealings ; and if I know my own heart, 
I do not. If my path in life must be a dreary one, I 
must rejoice that others are more favored, that all 
have not my griefs to bear. For myself I know that 
I have more than I deserve. I can only hope and 
pray that he will give me patience to bear all that he 
has appointed unto me, and that I may glorify him 
even in affliction.” 

You and mother must live with us, Grace, when 


164 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


we have a home ; and you shall never feel the want 
of love, if you will be satisfied with such as a brother 
and sister can give you. For myself, Emily is 
scarcely dearer to me than you, and she regards you 
now with all a sister’s fondness. She said to me last 
night, when we were talking of you, that it was the 
highest ambition of her life to be like you.” 

I value her affection in itself,” replied Grace ; 
and I regard it the more as the reflex influence ot 
yours. If every one looked upon me with my 
brother’s partial eyes, the affection lavished upon me 
would constitute a mine of wealth. It is well there 
are counterbalancing influences, or I might become so 
self-conceited as to be insufferable. My scholars 
sometimes give me to understand that they consider 
me anything but perfect. One of the boys said yes- 
terday that he wished he was back in Mr. Davis’ 
school, and he intended to go there next quarter; 
that Mr. Davis never gave him any such hard lessons 
to learn ; that I didn’t care if he studied himself to 
death.” 

“ I hope you punished him for his impudence.” 

No ; I did not even hear it, or I pretended not 
to. He was not talking to me, but to one of the 
other boys, intending me to hear it ; but I thought 
best to be deaf to it. He was only expressing what 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


165 


he felt, and there was nothing very reprehensible in 
it. I have more punishing to do than is pleasant to 
me, even when I confine my punishments to tangible 
offences, without snatching up every provocation 
which happens to present itself. I frequently make 
myself blind and deaf.’^ 

I wonder that you have so much patience Avith 
the children. I know I never should have.’^ 

‘‘ Patience is a woman’s virtue, Henry. Men sel- 
dom possess it. They have not the same need of it. 
Their sphere in life is exempted from the thousand 
petty perplexities which demand the exercise of 
patience. The difficulties which they meet with are 
such as require resolution and energy — difficulties 
which must be met with and overcome, not submitted 
to. It is not a man’s province to train children ; this 
naturally falls on the mother, while the father is 
struggling to earn a support for them. Hence to her 
was given the patience ; to him the energy and perse- 
verance. Everything in the economy of nature is so 
beautiful and so perfect. It speaks the wisdom of a 
God. If we only contemplate, Ave can but admire 
and adore. Since I have been a teacher, I have come 
to the conclusion that women are better teachers than 
men, though you may think I magnify my office. 
But in training the young, either intellectually, 


166 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


morally, or religiously, they need literally line upon 
line, and precept upon precept ; and there are very 
few men, as far as my observation goes, who have the 
requisite patience, to thus repeat and enforce instruc- 
tion.’’ 

How does Annie get along with her studies?” 
Henry asked. She seems to me dull to stupidity.” 

She is not at all bright, but she is tractable ; and 
she tries so hard to learn. Not that she has any 
appreciation of the value of knowledge, but she is so 
anxious to please me, and she knows I want her to 
learn. She makes much more rapid progress in 
learning how to perform domestic duties, than in 
acquiring knowledge from books. She is always glad 
to be released from school and sent into the house to 
perform duties there. I think she has, above all 
other things, a natural genius for cooking. In some 
things in this department she can excel me now.” 

Well, young as she is, I presume she has had 
more experience in cooking than you have ever had.” 

That had not occurred to me, but I suppose she 
has. I had another applicant for her services a few 
days ago. Mrs. Bolton came to me, and proposed to 
relieve me of the care of her. She said she wanted 
her as child’s nurse ; but I know that child’s nurse in 
her family means maid of all work as well. She 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


167 


wanted to have her bound to her, and said she would 
never be of any use unless she was; for if a girl was 
not bound to her, she was so apt to run off and find a 
place somewhere else. I thought to myself that she 
did but substantiate by her words what everybody 
says of her. She has a little bound girl now; and 
she is a poor, pitiful looking object, ragged and dirty, 
and almost always barefoot. I told her I had no 
power to bind Annie to anybody, as she had a father 
living ; and that, as she was so averse to leaving me, 
I had decided not to part with her.” 

What did Annie say about going there ? ” 

^‘1 never mentioned the subject to her. Every 
time any one speaks of her leaving us, she makes 
herself very nervous and miserable. And I would 
never suffer her to go to Mrs. Bolton’s; not onl}" 
because I know she would get such harsh treatment 
there, but because no religious influences would be 
brought to bear upon her. The family is perfectly 
worldly. They seldom go to church anywhere, and I 
have never seen nor heard of their children at Sun- 
day-school ; and as to their servants, they are never 
taught to know when Sunday comes.” 

I should not want you to give her up to any one ; 
she is so well satisfied and so useful to you. When 
she first came to us, I felt as if we could not possibly 


168 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


afford to maintain her ; but things are different now, 
and she is older, too, and partly earns her living. 
But we are leaving mother alone a long time. We 
ought to go to her soon for worship; she will be 
wanting to go to bed.’’ 

“ It is so delightful to have you to myself for a 
whole evening. What with your engagements with 
Emily, and the prayer-meeting, and the choir-meet- 
ing, and the Bible-class, and the occasional evening 
given to posting your books, I seldofn have that 
pleasure.” 

‘‘Well, my engagements are such that they cannot 
easily be dispensed with. When I bring Emily 
home that will supersede the necessity of going there. 
We shall all be together.” 

When they went to Mrs. Witherspoon’s room, she 
said: 

“I began to think you and Grace had gone out 
somewhere together, though you had not told me you 
were going.” 

“We have been sitting in the parlor,” Henry re- 
plied, “ enjoying the moonlight and each other’s so- 
ciety. Suppose we go in there for prayers to-night, 
mother, that we may have the benefit of the piano in 
our song of praise.” 

She assented to it, much to Annie’s joy, who was 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


169 


seated in Mrs. Witherspoon’s room, where she usually 
spent her evenings. It was her special delight to 
have Grace play the piano, a pleasure she seldom en- 
joyed; for, fond as Grace was of music, and much 
time as she had once devoted to it, she rarely had 
leisure for it now. 


CHAPTER Xyill. 


ANNIE WOODFORD AND HER FATHER. 

NE day after Grace had closed her school, and 



^ tliey were just about sitting down to dinner, 
some one knocked at the door. Henry opened it, 
and Mr. Woodford stood before him. Annie recog- 
nized the voice of her father, and ran to her own 
room to hide from him, so great was her dread of 
him. He entered the room and seated himself, ask- 
ing for Annie. He was very shabbily dressed, and 
somewhat under the influence of liquor, but not so 
much that he did not know what he was about. 

Grace persuaded Annie to come back, very much 
against her inclination. Her nicely combed hair, and 
tidy dress, presented a strong contrast to the seedy 
appearance of her father, with his tangled locks and 
unshorn beard. 

Mr. Woodford said to Grace that he had received 
the letter she had written him so long ago, announ- 
cing the death of his wife. This Grace knew, as she 
had sent it by private hands, who took the trouble to 
find him in Albany and deliver it. He said he was 


170 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


171 


very much obliged to her for her care of his wife, and 
if she would let him know what expense she had in- 
curred on her behalf, he would refund the money to 
her very soon. Grace thought this decidedly cool in 
a man who had allowed her to maintain his wife for 
nearly a year, and his child more than twice as long. 

He made himself very much at home ; and though 
Henry felt a great reluctance to asking him to sit 
down to the table with his mother and sister, he did 
not see how he could avoid it. He ate like a half- 
starved man, which, no doubt, he was. After dinner, 
when Henry left to go back to his business, he asked 
him if he would go down town with him, for, much as 
he disliked being seen in the street with such a man, he 
was even more unwilling to leave him there to annoy 
the family; but Mr. Woodford declined, saying it 
was so long since he had seen his child, he would pre- 
fer staying with her. As soon as Grace had removed 
the things from the table, she and her mother with- 
drew, glad of any pretext to get away from so dis- 
gusting a man. They had no sooner gone, than he 
commenced questioning Annie as to how she was 
treated. He said : 

Do they make you work hard ? ’’ 

do not have to work half as hard as Miss 
Grace,^^ she replied. I only have to work when I 


172 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


don’t have any lessons to get, and she works all the 
time.” 

Does she ever give you any money ? ” 

No, sir.” 

Where do you get your clothes ? ” 

She buys them for me, and makes them herself, 
though I am learning to do a little on them now.” 

Have you got many clothes now ? ” 

“ Yes, I have got plenty of them.” 

Have you got any pretty new ones ? ” 

“ I have got a fine pink frock, just done making.” 

“ Get it and show it to me.” 

She ran away, highly delighted at the thought of 
exhibiting her finery to her father. 

He looked at it and commenced depreciating its 
value ; said it was a tawdry rag ; that he wanted to 
see his child wear better clothes than that. That he 
would buy her a nice silk dress, if she would promise 
not to wear this gay thing. She said : 

If Miss Grace tells me to, I shall have to wear 
it. I always put on what she tells me.” 

“Well, I will carry this one off with me; and if 
she tells you to put it on, tell her you can’t find it, 
and don’t know where it is; that somebody must 
have stolen it.” 

“But, father, I cannot tell a lie; and she would 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 173 

know better than that too; for nobody ever steals 
anything here.” 

You cannot obey your father, you trifling 
minx?” he said, shaking his fist at her threaten- 
ingly, after the manner which had so terrified her in 
her early childhood. Pretty training you receive in 
this house, to be sure, if that is what you are taught, 
to disobey your father. If you don’t tell her what I 
tell you, I will take you away from her, and carry 
you oft’ where you will never see her again. I will 
make you live with me, and cook for me ; and when 
I go off in the morning, I will lock you up for safe 
keeping until I come back.” 

It had been long since Annie had heard such 
dreadful threats and imprecations as he poured upon 
her, but they had lost none of their old power. She 
was terrified beyond measure, and cried as if her 
heart was breaking. 

Shut up, you little vixen,” he said, shaking her 
angrily. If you don’t dry up, I will kill you.” 

He took the dress, and rolled it up in as small a 
compass as possible, and crammed it into his pocket. 

Annie did not dare expostulate ; she knew it would 
be useless ; and if she had not known it, she was so 
mastered by her terror that she could only be silent. 
He said ; 


174 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


^^You understand what I say to you. If Miss 
Grace ever asks you about the dress, tell her some- 
body must have stolen it. And if you ever dare 
to let her know that I took it from you, I will be 
the death of you. Mind what I tell you.^^ 

After sitting a while in silence, he became drowsy, 
and finally got to dozing in the large, comfortable 
chair in which he had ensconced himself. 

When he got quiet, Annie gradually regained her 
composure, and tried to wipe away the traces of her 
tears. It was no slight loss to her to part with this 
pretty dress. Henry had given it to her. When he 
told Grace to come down to the store, and look at his 
new goods, and select what she wanted, he said : 

Bring Annie with you, and let her pick out a new 
dress for herself.^’ 

This was the one she had chosen, and it had an 
added value in her eyes from having been her own 
selection. But losing the dress was nothing, com- 
pared with the thought that she was to be compelled 
to tell a horrible lie about it; for to disobey her 
father was more than she dared to do. His anger 
had been the terror of her life, and she felt as if she 
could not brave it. She thought to herself: 

“ Miss Grace will know that it is a lie, and she will 
despise me for telling it, and she will be so sorry too. 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


175 


after all her pains with me to have me do such a 
wicked thing, and God will never forgive me ; but 
my father, he will kill me, if I don’t do what he tells 
me; and I suppose I must do it.” 

The poor child fell to sobbing again, in spite of her- 
self. She wished she could go to her own little room 
by the side of Grace’s, and have a good cry; but her 
father might wake up and be angry with her for 
going away; or, perhaps, Grace would see her, and 
find out she had been crying. She must try and 
hold in until bed-time, and then she would cry all 
night. 

As tea-time approached, Grace entered the room 
and found Mr. Woodford still sitting there. He 
commenced a conversation with her, and tried to 
make himself agreeable. He had slept off, in a 
measure, the fumes of the liquor he had drank, 
and Grace began to fear, from the way in which he 
talked, that he was expecting to quarter himself upon 
them. She went to the front door to meet Henry as 
he should approach the house, as it was nearly time to 
expect him. When he came up she joined him on 
the street, and putting her arm in his, they walked 
back and forth together, discussing what was best to 
be done. Grace said : 

If we offend him, he may take Annie away from 


176 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


US, and there is no telling what would become of 
her.’’ 

Offend him or not, he shall not stay here,” Henry 
said. will ask him to supper, and have prayers 
soon after, and then tell him it is our usual hour for 
retiring, and he must seek his lodgings.” 

‘^Try and be as gentle with him as you can, for I 
would not willingly incur his anger. His temper is 
dreadful, and I do not want it poured out on me.” 

‘‘ There is no fear of its hurting you, sister.” 

I am not so sure about that. If it disturbs Annie, 
it will hurt me.” 

The evening past, the prayers were over, and still 
Mr. Woodford said nothing about leaving. Annie 
was glad for her bed-time to come, and left for her 
own room. Mrs. Witherspoon and Grace also retired 
for the night. 

Then came Henry’s task to get rid of him the best 
way he could. He told him that he was obliged to 
rise early for his business, and must necessarily keep 
early hours, and it was about his usual time of retir- 
ing. Still no movement was made to go. He then 
asked him where he was stopping while in town. He 
said he should not remain long in the village, and 
would like to stay with his daughter what time he 
was there. Henry replied: 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


177 


‘‘That is simply impossible. The cares of my 
sister are already more than they should be, and I 
cannot think of bringing another into the family for 
her to increase them.^’ 

Mr. Woodford flew into a towering passion, said he 
ought to be entitled to something for the services of 
his child; that if they were not better appreciated 
than that, he would take her away, and put her 
where they would yield him some profit. He said 
that in Albany, where he would take her, girls of 
her size earned wages. This he said after he reached 
the hall on his way out; and as his voice was elevated 
with rage, both Grace and Annie heard his threat. 
It was what Grace had expected. She tried her 
best to comfort Annie; but the child felt herself 
entirely at his mercy, and could hope for nothing 
from him. 

Grace sat down by her on the edge of her little, 
low bed, and talked to her about Jesus, of his love 
for little children, how while on earth he took them 
in his arms and blessed them, and how his loving care 
was over them still. She prayed with her, and tried 
by every gentle art to soothe her. She told her that 
she would do all in her power to help her, and hoped 
to succeed ; that when her father got over his auger 

he might forget all about it. But it was hours before 
M 


178 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


the child^s terror at what was before her suffered her 
to sleep. 

The next day, Henry saw Mr. Woodford drunk in 
the street. He did not know that the liquor which 
made him so was purchased with the new dress he 
had given Annie so recently, and which she might 
with truth have said was stolen from her; for her 
father had taken it by force. For some weeks Mr. 
Woodford did not intrude himself upon them again, 
though he was lurking about the town, performing 
any, even the most menial, services by which he 
could procure a drink, and occasionally a loaf of 
bread, though he lived mostly upon liquor. He 
slept about in any barn or stable where he could 
find shelter, and had only been prevented from going 
again to see Annie from the fact that he had been all 
the time too besotted to do or attempt anything. 
During all this time Annie never went out of the 
house, not even to church, or Sunday-school. The 
fear and dread of her father was so great that she 
could not be induced to risk encountering him. One 
day, when Grace was trying to persuade her to go to 
Sunday-school, she said: 

You have never worn your new dress yet, which 
you admired so much ; you might wear it to-day, and 
we will go up South Street; and, as there are no 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 179 

shops on that street, we shall be certain not to meet 
your father.’’ 

Annie cried so bitterly at the proposition, that 
Grace desisted and suffered her to remain at home. 

At length Mr. Woodford was sober once more, 
from the fact that he was out of money, and work, 
and credit. Then he bethought himself of Annie, 
and went again to see her. 

He came in at the back gate this time, and went to 
the kitchen, where she was busy keeping up a fire 
about the dinner which Grace had put on. He told 
her he must have some dinner; and she put him off, 
telling him he must wait until it was cooked. Then, 
when she went out to bring in some wood, she ran to 
the school-room, and, whispering to Grace, asked her 
permission to give her father some dinner. This she 
of course received, and hurrying back with the wood 
in her arms, she hastened as much as possible her 
dinner preparations, and served some to him, which 
he ate greedily and hastily, fearing all the time that 
some one of the family might come in and find him 
eating, not knowing that the child had asked permis- 
sion to feed him. He tried to get something more 
out of her that would be available for more liquor. 
He again asked her about her clothes. She told him 
she had no other new dress; which was true. He 


180 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


inquired about her shoes. She had not a pair in tlie 
house but those she had on, which was also true, as 
her others were in the hands of the shoemaker for 
repairs. The man was base enough to have taken 
these from her, but he was not quite prepared to 
brave the consequeuces. Then came the old threat. 
He said : 

Annie, I am going to take you away from here, 
and put you where you can earn something. They 
keep you here cooking and doing servant’s work, and 
give you nothing for it. I don’t intend to stand it. 
Mrs. Bolton stopped her carriage this morning to ask 
about you, and said she wanted to have you ; and I 
am to go there this afternoon to make a bargain about 
it.” 

Annie’s dread of being sent away overcame her 
dread of her father, and she ventured to say : 

Father, please do not send me to Mrs. Bolton’s. 
They never give people that live with them half 
enough to eat. Hatty Folsom, the little bound girl 
that stays there, comes here to beg some bread every 
time she gets a chance; and Miss Grace tells me 
always to give it to her. Please, father, let me 
stay here.” 

“I am going to put you where I can get the best 
wages for you ; and the Bolton’s are rich folks, and I 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


181 


know they are able to pay; and if you can’t get 
enough to eat, why then steal it.” 

Father, I could not steal it if I was starving. God 
would never forgive me.” 

‘‘Hush up your cant,” he replied, with an oath. 
“ I heard enough of that in your mother’s life time. 
I don’t want any more of it. You will go where I 
send you ; and that is enough said about that.” 

He picked up his hat and left hastily, seeing the 
school-children pass the window, and knowing that 
Grace would soon be in. When she came in Annie 
told her what her father said, though her heart was 
so full of grief she could hardly get through with the 
sad recital. Grace said : 

“You must not grieve about it, Annie. It will be 
a great deal better for you to go to Mrs. Bolton’s, 
than for your father to carry you off, as he threatened 
to do. If you are at Mrs. Bolton’s I can see you 
often ; and if she does not give you enough to eat, I 
will. It is so near us that you can come here very 
easily, and I will give you shoes and clothes too. 
You shall not go looking as ragged as Hatty Folsom 
does.” 

“Perhaps Mrs. Bolton will not give me time to 
come.” I 

“Yes she will; you need not fear that.” 


182 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


Though Grace made so light of the matter to 
Annie, yet she felt very much for her, and resolved, 
in her own mind, that she should not go there if by 
any possibility she could thwart the arrangement. 
Annie was so much disturbed that she could not 
eat. 

Mr. Woodford went to Mrs. Bolton’s, and tried to 
bargain away the services of his child. Mrs. Bolton 
proposed to feed and clothe Annie until she was 
eighteen if her father would bind her to her. He 
scouted at the proposition, and said that he would 
hire her to her for twenty dollars a year, payment 
in advance, and he would clothe her. This was 
equally remote from her ideas. They chaffered for a 
long time without coming to any understanding, and 
separated. 

As he passed Mrs. Witherspoon’s, Grace saw him 
and asked him if he had made any definite bargain 
about Annie. 

He told her what Mrs. Bolton’s proposition was, 
and the one he had made to her. Grace said : 

‘'Are you willing to give writings to that effect, 
that for twenty dollars paid you in advance you will 
hire her for twelve months, you to furnish her with 
necessary and comfortable clothing?” 

To this he eagerly assented, and she brought him 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


183 


in, and soon had the papers drawn up and signed; and 
after he received the money, he took his leave. Grace 
knew, of course, that he would never furnish any 
clothes for her, but had the clause inserted, thinking 
it would give her a hold upon her for a longer time. 
The next morning Henry had the satisfaction of re- 
porting that he had seen him leave on the stage, and 
thought they would probably be rid of him for a 
time. 

Annie was as happy as she had before been miser- 
able. When she was certain that her father had gone 
entirely away from them, she told Grace the story 
about the dress; how her father had taken it from 
her, and what he had told her to say when questioned 
as to what had become of it. Grace said : 

And did you intend, Annie, to tell me a lie about 
it?’’ 

“ I did not know what to do. Miss Grace. I knew 
father would do something dreadful to me if I dis- 
obeyed him. He said he would kill me ; and he said 
he would take me and lock me up, and make me cook 
for him, and that would be worse than killing me ; 
for 1 should be frightened to death when I was 
locked up alone, and more frightened when he came 
home; and I know I should never have enough to 
eat.” 


184 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


But all this ought not to make any difference, 
Annie. We should obey God rather than man. It 
is a dreadful thing to lie, no matter who tells us to do 
it. The Bible forbids us to lie. And no liar shall 
enter heaven.” 

I know it. Miss Grace ; and every night when I 
went to bed I was so frightened, because there was a 
lie in my heart. I intended to tell it, and I thought 
that was almost as bad as telling it, but I did not 
know how to help it ; I was so afraid of my father. 
Do you think he will ever come back here any 
more ? ” 

“ If he does, we will try and buy him off again. 
He cannot touch you now for a whole year, for you 
belong to me ; and a year is a long time, you know.” 

Annie’s tears were quite dried up; and when 
Henry gave her another dress in the place of the one 
her father took from her, her heart was light and 
joyous. 

Mrs. Bolton was very much provoked at having 
lost her chance of getting Annie. It was such an 
extremely difficult matter for her to keep servants, or, 
indeed, for her to get them at all, that she was disap- 
pointed in not getting one whom she believed to be so 
meek that she would quietly submit to anything. 
Still, much as she wanted her, she would never have 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


185 


been willing to pay such a price as Grace had given 
for the services of such a child. Nor would Grace 
have given that for her services. She gave it in 
obedience to the dictates of her benevolent heart, 
which was unwilling to see the child subjected to 
suffering ; and still more in obedience to her Chris- 
tian obligations, which forbade her to throw one, 
whom she had promised to train as far as possible in 
the way of truth and holiness, into a family which 
had not the fear of God before their eyes, and who 
tolerated in their own children all manner of godless 
conduct. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


PLANS OF HENRY AND EMILY. 

MID all the trials of her lot, Grace had many 



comforts. She was quick to discern them, and 
ready always to acknowledge them as proceeding 
from the All-gracious Father, who often raises up for 
his children the shadow of a great rock as they 
travel through a desert land. Annie’s love for her 
was one of the blessings in her toilsome and, in some 
respects, dreary life. If Annie loved her before, she 
almost worshiped her now. She looked upon her 
with the most grateful feelings, as one who had saved 
her from a terrible destiny. She tried to shield 
Grace, as far as it was possible to do it, from every 
domestic hardship. Let me do it. Miss Grace,” and 
Let me try to do it,” were words ever in her mouth. 

She was very dutiful, too, and affectionate towards 
Mrs. Witherspoon. She always knew where the 
spectacles were ; she would pick up her footstool, and 
carry and place it under her feet when she changed 
her seat ; and performed all those little kindnesses, so 
trifling in themselves, but which go so far towards 
making up the comfort of one’s every-day life. 


186 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


187 


Grace had the unbounded love, too, of many of 
her pupils ; and her heart went out to them with an 
affection which constituted one of the elements of her 
happiness. Often, when their daily lessons were 
over, and the hour came for them to separate, they 
were loth to take leave of her ; and, with some of 
them, it was a constant practice to bring her of their 
child offerings the choicest of their fruits and flowers. 
She used sometimes to feel and say that her happiest 
hours were spent in her school-room. True, it 
seemed at times hard to be under the necessity of 
going every morning to her daily task, whether she 
felt like it or not. Sometimes she would have pre- 
ferred another occupation, or indulgence in rest, or in 
reading ; but there was one great source of satisfaction 
in it. Once engrossed with its ever-recurring duties, 
she would forget herself and her sorrows in seeking 
the improvement of the children. It was a pleasure 
to her in her lowly life to lead their young minds for- 
ward, step by step, in the acquisition of knowledge ; 
to feel that she was training them for usefulness on 
earth ; and to know that her influence over them was 
tending to lead their young hearts to Jesus. She 
often thought: 

How blest is my employment, if indeed I should 
be the humble instrument of introducing any of them 


188 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


into the kingdom of Christ ! How cheering the hope 
that they may shine as stars in my crown of rejoicing 
when Christ shall call us home 

While George Austin sought in vain to forget his 
grief at losing her, she was healing the wound which 
the loss of him had made in her heart, by doing good 
to others. 

His motives, and the springs of his actions, flowed 
from a heart at variance with God, and hence un- 
blest ; while hers were purified by her religious faith, 
and accepted of him who scans all hearts, and through 
his rich grace made effectual in answering the end 
desired. How is the promise verified in those who 
follow Christ, that they shall receive a thousand fold 
more in this present world, beside the rich inheritance 
of everlasting life ! 

Henry Witherspoon’s new house was approaching 
completion, and the day for his marriage with Emily 
was for the second time appointed. On going home 
with her one evening from the choir meeting, which 
for years had been one of their trysting-places, he 
said; 

^^One thing we must guard against, Emily, after 
our marriage, that is, neglecting the choir, and prayer- 
meetings, and the Sunday-school. I have often 
noticed young people very zealous in these duties 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


189 


until they marry, when suddenly their zeal cools.” 
Emily said: 

There may be some excuse for ladies; for when 
they have a home of their own to maintain, its duties 
may interfere with public services. Which, do you 
think, ought to give place?” 

I think in a household where husband and wife 
are of the same mind, such arrangements might be 
entered into as would prevent any collision. Let the 
routine of the household be ordered with reference to 
the public services of the church; then they cannot 
conflict.” 

^‘True; but for instance, our Sunday-school as- 
sembles at nine o’clock in the morning. I think it 
would be a difficult matter for any housekeeper to get 
breakfast, and go through with the indispensable 
avocations of the morning, in time to be present at 
the Sunday-school at the appointed hour. I do not 
remember that we have a single teacher among the 
ladies who is a housekeeper.” 

‘^Sister Grace is always there, you know, in time.” 

^‘Yes. I had forgotten her; but then, you know, 
she is a marvel among women. I have often told 
you that you must not expect me to rise to her stature 
of excellence.” 

‘‘I do not admit that your character needs any 


190 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


elevating to bring it up to the standard of hers. 
She is older than you, and her character is more 
matured ; and she has been tried in a stern school — 
poor Grace ! But the lessons she has learned by 
experience others can learn by observation. Grace, 
in the first place, does double duty on Saturday, 
that she may be ready for Sunday. Most of our 
Sunday cooking is done the day before — not that we 
live more plainly — rather the contrary. But such 
things are chosen as best bear to be eaten cold. 
Then, in the next place, she rises earlier on Sunday 
morning than any morning in the week. By this 
means she always has the house in order, and herself 
and Annie ready for school.^^ 

‘AYell, I will try to profit by her example. When 
she comes to live with us, I hope to see enough of the 
inside of her character to be able to copy many of 
her excellences.^^ 

^^She says that she does not intend to live with 
us.’’ 

‘^But I understood you to say that was why you 
were building our house so large, that your mother 
and sister might find a home with us.” 

That was my reason, and it did not occur to me 
that Grace would object, which she does decidedly. 
She says that she prefers keeping up an establishment 


GEORGE AUSTIJT. 


191 


of her own, and mother may take her choice as to 
which of us she will live with. Grace says that she 
is getting confirmed in her old maidish ways, as she 
terms them, and it is better to leave her where she 
can do as she pleases. The income from her school is 
ample, now, for the maintainance of her home, and 
the supply of all her wants; but as I do not wish 
her to teach I shall settle an annuity upon her and 
mother before I marry — such an one as will maintain 
them in comfort; and if the Lord prospers me, I will 
increase it as I am able to do so. 

Grace also argues that the hours for her meals 
must conform to the regulations of the school, and 
that such hours might suit you or they might not. 
She thinks also that you are too young to have such a 
family thrown on your hands while you are a novice 
in housekeeping; that after you have tried it a few 
years, and things begin to move on smoothly, and you 
get accustomed to the new duties, it will be time 
enough to begin to talk about consolidating the two 
families. In short, she thinks it would be better for 
both parties to have separate homes; and I have 
come to be of her opinion.” 

‘‘Well, I had hoped to have the benefit of her 
experience, but perhaps she is right. With regard to 
choir-meetings, Henry, there is one of the young 


192 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


ladies in our choir who is particularly anxious to take 
my place. She thinks I have led as alto singer long 
enough, and that it is time for her to take her turn. 
She has never said anything to me about it, but she 
told Sally Green last week that she hoped when 
Emily Gordon was married she would leave the choir 
and take her place among the old folks. I under- 
stood why she wished it. It was that she might take 
my place ; and if I could make any reasonable excuse 
for doing so, I would retire at once and gratify her.” 

^^Who is it, Emily, that wants your place?” 

Jane Clifford.” 

She cannot possibly fill it. She seldom gets 
through a verse without making a false note, and her 
ear for music is so defective that she is wholly un- 
conscious of it. You know, Emily, that you are the 
best singer in the choir, and you cannot be spared 
from it.” 

How you love to flatter me, Henry ! ” 

I am not flattering you. You ought to know me 
better than to suppose I could do so.” 

‘^Then it is your too partial judgment which de- 
cides the matter.” 

^^My judgment in this matter is very well sus- 
tained by that of others. When you were ill here, 
two or three months ago, and Jane Clifford led the 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


193 


alto, Ned Graut said that he intended to get on the 
sick list too, and stay away as long as you did ; that 
it was enough to upset any man to listen to such 
music. I hope, Emily, you will not think of resign- 
ing. The music of the church must not be sacrificed 
to gratify Miss Clifford.” 

‘^As you please, Henry. I am very willing to 
serve the church in this, or any other capacity ; but 
you know how unwilling I am to stand in anybody’s 
way.” 

‘‘How does Miss Clifford know so much about 
when we are to be married ? ” 

“She cannot know anything about it; but I sup- 
pose, like everybody else, she guesses. You know on 
this subject, people are always well posted, or deem 
themselves so ; and very frequently they can give you 
information upon it of which the parties themselves 
are in perfect ignorance.” 

“ I hope their speculations,” Henry replied, “ will 
soon be swallowed up in a certainty.” 

“ There is one thing, Henry, about Grace’s main- 
taining a separate establishment. I have one very 
strong objection to it, and wish you could induce her 
to give to us the pleasure of her society, and the bene- 
fit of her experience. I know her home will be the 

best ordered, and you will be tempted to spend too 
N 


194 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


much time there, while I shall be craving your 
society.’^ 

‘‘Do I give you any reason to complain of me in 
that respect, now ? ’’ 

“None, but these things might be dilferent after- 
wards.’’ 

“If there is any difference, it will probably be in 
your favor. I shall scarcely find less pleasure in 
your society, when you become the presiding spirit 
of my home, than I do now, when you do not quite 
belong to me, and are in another’s home. Have you 
noticed our house lately, Emily? How well it is 
advancing, and how pretty it begins to look?” 

“ I passed there last week, but only glanced at it. 
I scarcely dared do that, lest every one should think 
that I was anxious to see how my new house would 
look; which of course I was, but did not like to 
own it.” 

“ I am undecided about the painting. What color 
would you like it?” 

“Only please yourself, Henry.” 

“But I want your views about it.” 

“As it is brick, I suppose it will have to be red. 
Almost every body paints a brick house red.” 

“No matter what everybody does. We can make 
it what color we please.” 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


195 


^‘Well, I confess that my preferences are for some 
light, neutral tint. I like a house of such a color, 
with darker blinds, and green trees about it.” 

^‘You will have to thank Grace for those pretty 
shade-trees about the house. Grace insisted upon my 
setting them out three years ago. I felt so depressed 
and sad that I did not think it best to do anything 
about it. I thought it was nothing to me; that I 
should be compelled to sell it as it stood; which I 
should have done, if I could have found a purchaser. 
But she would not give it up, and went into the 
woods and selected them herself, and would have it 
that I could dig them up and set them out as well as 
anybody could; and, in short, gave me no peace until 
I tried ; and sure enough I found it very easy. I am 
glad now that I heeded her; as I always am when I 
follow her advice. Those black walnut trees are 
beautiful now. But the aspen which George sent 
me — when I wrote him I was busy putting out 
shade-trees — is, in my eyes, the pride of the grove. 
It is one of the most beautiful and graceful of its 
kind, and it is a favorite tree with me; this is why I 
placed it near a window of the room which I design 
for our use.” 

How I have wished, Henry, that I could see the 
ocean.” 


196 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


‘^And so have I desired it. Suppose we go together 
to New York, and take a trip down to where we can 
see its surging waters. I have been thinking for 
some time that it would be well for my business if I 
were to go to New York, and lay in my own supplies. 
I could do it to so much better advantage than I 
can when I order them, as I have hitherto done. 
Father used always to go down once a year, if not 
more; and our stock was much more judiciously 
selected than mine is now. I often receive goods 
which are quite different from what I supposed I was 
ordering. I thought of going last spring, but could 
not leave mother and Grace alone for so long a time. 
Mr. Woodford, also, was here then, and constantly 
annoying them. Now that they are free from that 
nuisance I could leave them more willingly, and if 
you like, we will go together.^^ 

I should like it above all things, particularly if 
Grace would go with us. It would give her a brief 
respite from care, and perhaps do her good.’’ 

I doubt if she would go ; and if she should want 
to, how could we both leave mother at once?” 

presume you could get Miss Lydia Fitch to 
come and stay with your mother, and keep house for 
her while you were away.” 

If Grace will consent to it, I will try. I know it 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


197 


would give her great pleasure to see the wonders of 
that great city. When a child, she used to sit on 
father’s knees and listen, with very big eyes, to the 
tales he told her of what he had seen there. He 
always promised her that when she was old enough, 
she should go there. 

George Austin is very anxious for me to go 
down; he has written me frequently and urgently 
upon the subject, and said if I would come, he would 
find accommodations for me, where I would be com- 
fortable, at a reasonable rate. He thinks my interests 
would be subserved by going; and as it is solely 
through his influence that I have been able to com- 
mence business again, I ought, of course, to yield to 
his judgment. If Grace should go to New York, she 
would know that she must meet George there, and 
this is the reason why I think she would be unwill- 
ing to go. She has schooled her heart to feel that she 
must live without him ; and has learned to accept the 
decision which she has arrived at cheerfully. If she 
should meet him, it might renew her old feelings ; 
and I doubt if she would incur the risk.” 

I feel very much for Mrs. Austin,” said Emily. 

George left here to be gone twelve months, and that 
seemed like a long time ; and now he has been gone 
for so many years, and never been home in the time.” 


198 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


He is doing well, though, at least as far as 
worldly prospects are concerned. He has steadily 
risen, and bids fair to rise very much higher in his 
chosen profession.” 

Mrs. Austin is a very lovely woman. She never 
seems to feel the least hurt with Grace for not accept- 
ing George. She is as fond of her, and speaks as 
affectionately, as if she were her own child.” 

“ Mrs. Austin understands and appreciates Grace^s 
motives ; and, I have no doubt, loves her the better 
for the high-toned Christian principle which actuates 
her. She knows very well that it is no caprice on 
the part of my sister, but a settled conviction of duty. 
Until lately I have never given up the hope that 
George would see the folly and wickedness of his 
course in forsaking the Master to whose service he 
once pledged himself. Still, how can I think but 
that he was once a genuine and sincere Christian ; 
and if so, he will surely be again reclaimed by the 
grace of God. We have no reason to suppose that 
when the Holy Spirit once operates upon the heart, 
convincing it of sin, and leads it through repentance 
and faith to embrace a risen Saviour, that he ever for- 
sakes his work until the soul thus regenerated is gath- 
ered in to take its place in the church triumphant, 
safely housed from the snares and sins of earth. 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


199 


He may hide his face from the wandering sheep. 
He may be grieved with it, speaking after the manner 
of men, and leave it in its backslidings to work out a 
course of sin, which can end only in misery, until the 
goadings of its conscience shall drive it back to its 
first love. 

I have earnestly hoped and prayed that it might 
be thus with George; but hope has almost failed 
me. For a long time he was as miserable about 
his departure from Christ as I could have desired 
to see him; but of late he never mentions the sub- 
ject to me in his letters. Sometimes I can detect 
in them an under-current of dissatisfaction with the 
world and its pleasures; but of late his letters 
generally, if not cheerful, are, at least, not sad. It 
would be dreadful if he should be left to hardness 
of heart. 

I think the state of his mind preys upon Grace 
more than her own personal disappointment does. 
She has regular seasons of prayer specially for him. 
She has never mentioned this to any one but me ; and 
only to me that I might join her in them. She 
allows no ordinary hindrance to interfere with this 
hour of prayer, but observes it religiously, and has 
done so through all these years. Though she has 
nothing to build a hope upon for him, yet her true 


200 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


woman’s heart still hopes on, and her confidence in 
God is never shaken. She says : 

^ I may not live to see it, but George will one day 
give himself again to the service of his God.’ ” 

‘^It is beautiful to have such faith,” said Emily. 


CHAPTER XX. 


PEEPARATIONS FOR THE FUTURE. 

^TTHEN the house was completed, and the paint 
^ dry, and the debris of the workmen cleared 
away, Henry wanted Gmce to go with him and select 
the furniture. To this she objected, saying : 

Emily can choose for herself much better than I 
can choose for her.’^ Henry replied : 

She is not hard to please ; and I know that what- 
ever I might buy would be sure to meet her appro- 
bation.” 

I do not doubt it, my good brother ; but every- 
body has personal tastes and views of things. 1 
should not thank anybody to furnish a house for me 
that I was to occupy all my life.” 

‘‘Well, I must have some things. I cannot take 
her into an empty house.” 

“ No, but you can bring her here ; and that will be 
the right thing for you to do. I can make ample 
preparations for her comfort, but I cannot entertain 
her, as far as my society is concerned ; for you know 

my time is not my own ; but you will not need any 

201 


202 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


society but that of each other. Then, when I have 
leisure, I will go out with her, if she wishes it, and 
aid her in selecting her furniture.” 

Slie is so young and inexperienced, she will need 
some one.” 

“ Perhaps she would prefer her mother, or perhaps 
her husband. If she desires my assistance, I would 
prefer having her ask it, to going on your invitation, 
or even suggestion. She may think I wish to dictate 
to her as to what is best ; and nothing is farther from 
my thoughts.” 

I have been talking a little with her about a trip 
to New York ; but I have not fully decided that it is 
best to go.” 

That would be the very thing, brother ; then you 
could buy furniture there.” 

I had not thought of that ; I was supposing the 
house must be furnished beforehand. But it would be 
better to buy in New York ; we would have so much 
larger an assortment to select from ; and, no doubt, 
could buy more advantageously. I would decide at 
once to go soon after our marriage, but for one thing. 
I do not like to leave you and mother so long by 
yourselves.” 

^^We are not children, my dear brother, that we 
need your guardianship. I must learn to stand alone. 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


203 


as this is the lot which my Heavenly Father has ap- 
pointed unto me/’ she said, with eyes swimming with 
tears. I have been practicing of late by trying to 
lean on you as little as possible, and by educating 
mother to feel that I can take your place with her. 
One thing I ought to do when you leave us, and it is 
going to be to me a great trial. If I become the 
head of the family, which I shall be virtually when 
you are gone, it will become my duty to conduct the 
family devotions; and I shrink from attempting it.” 

I wonder that you should. I should not think 
that you could ever be at a loss for matter or words 
in addressing our Father. It may be a short time 
before you get accustomed to the new service. But 
you need only to persevere, and God will help you. 
I have thought this matter over before, and hoped 
that you w^ould feel it your duty to assume it. I 
know mother could not be expected to do it. Yet 
she would sorely miss the comforting influence of 
family devotion after having enjoyed it all her life. 
Besides, in her lonely condition, isolating herself as 
she does from her church and from all society, it con- 
stitutes an event in her daily life. 

“About our going to New York, Grace. If we 
should go, would you go with us ? Emily is anxious 
you should, and says we could probably get Miss 


204 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


Fitch to come and keep house for mother while you 
are gone.” 

could not go, Henry. What should I do with 
my school?” 

^^You are to give a vacation before very long, 
and we can wait and take advantage of that when 
it comes.” 

^‘That would make it too late for you to pur- 
chase furniture and fall supplies. The navigation of 
the Hudson will have been suspended by ice, before 
that time, and you could not get your purchases here 
until spring.” 

“If you will consent to go I will manage all 
that. We will order furniture now, or have our 
own selection and wait until spring for it, just as 
Emily pleases.” 

“I shall not suffer you to make discomfort for 
yourselves in order to accommodate me. I do not 
think I want to go even if I could. When you first 
proposed the trip it seemed very tempting, for it 
has been long my wish to go there; but there are 
reasons why I ought not to go, and I must not think 
of it.” 

“It would do you good, Grace; and it would 
be much pleasanter to make the trip now, that the 
river is open, than it would be to stage it all the 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


205 


way there in mid-winter. I propose that you give 
your school vacation when it suits your convenience, 
and ours, and make up the time afterwards, if you 
like.’’ 

That might not suit my patrons. They will 
expect the vacation at the accustomed time.” 

^‘If they are not suited they can make other ar- 
rangements. You are not dependent on their pat- 
ronage. I hope you will never consider yourself 
so.” 

I cannot go, Henry, and I think you and Emily 
had better go at once as soon as you are married, in 
order to make the trip, and get back before the in- 
tensely cold weather sets in.” 

This was the decision which Henry came to. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


MARRIAGE OP HENRY AND EMILY. 

TF the life which Grace had led previous to this 
time had been a busy one, it now became so to a 
much greater degree. She thought her house must 
undergo a thorough renovating before the bride was 
brought home to it. Henry’s room was to have a 
new carpet, and the furniture of the guest chamber 
moved into it. In short, it was her purpose to make 
it the most attractive looking room in the house. 
His wardrobe was to be put in as perfect order as the 
skill of her needle would admit of. The daily 
housekeeping must go on as usual. Her school-hours 
were never to be infringed upon, of course; and 
setting copies, and marking text books, and correct- 
ing compositions and French exercises, occupied many 
an hour outside of the school-room. She worked 
early and late. The day had duties which required 
vigorous and toilsome application ; and her evenings 
were given to the diligent use of her needle, until the 
beams of her midnight lamp were the last to shed 

their radiance in all the surrounding neighborhood. 

206 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


207 


She stitched in many a tear in this work of love. 
This brother had been to her more than words might 
ever tell. They two had been the only olive plants 
which had ever graced their father’s board. Their 
pride in each other had been mutual from their 
earliest childhood. They had together sought the 
Saviour’s feet ; and while Grace was the earlier con- 
vert, her clear Christian experience served as a guide 
to his more wavering footsteps, till they too were 
planted on the rock Christ Jesus. They shared a 
mutual sorrow in the loss of their home, and the com- 
forts of wealth, and they bowed with a common 
anguish over the lifeless remains of their beloved 
father. They had struggled together to maintain a 
home for the parent who was left to them, and in 
doing so had drank to the very dregs the cup of 
grinding poverty ; and again had risen together to a 
condition of greater ease. Fellow members of one 
cliurch, they were united in its duties, shared a com- 
mon sorrow in the defection of any of its disciples, 
and felt a kindred joy in welcoming into the fold the 
repenting sinner. He had been a partaker with her 
of the one sorrow, into whose communion no other 
living heart had entered. 

But now he upon whom she had so fondly leaned, 
who had hitherto been so fully her own, was to form 


208 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


ties which would separate him from the home of his 
youth, and give to another the place in his heart 
which had so long been hers. Hitherto her comfort 
had been of paramount importance in all his arrange- 
ments. Now she must stand back and take a second 
place, while another would occupy that which had 
once belonged to her. 

I will conquer this selfish feeling,” she said. I 
will not shed these tears.” But still they flowed on, 
and would not be repressed. 

Are we ready to censure her? She was but 
human, and, much as she loved her brother, and 
rejoiced in his happiness, her woman^s heart could not 
have the prop on which she leaned snatched from her 
and feel no regret. Her tears hindered not her work. 
She was resolved to do for her only brother all that 
w'as possible in order to promote his comfort. Before 
him she would have a brave heart, lest he should sus- 
pect her grief. Until now, she had never tried to 
hide her feelings from him. Her heart had been to 
him an open page, which he had deemed it a privilege 
to read. She must not cast a cloud over his happi- 
ness by revealing to him this sorrow which she would 
not have him alleviate if she could ; for, strange con- 
tradiction as it may seem, she was anxious for this 
marriage. She knew that it would add to his happi- 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


209 


ness in life, and she loved him too dearly to desire to 
have his wishes thwarted. She fully endorsed his 
choice, deeming Emily not only very lovely in her- 
self, but every way suited to him. She was modest 
and retiring, and gentle almost to a fault. 

Emily was the only child of her parents, and they 
made preparations for her nuptials on a large scale. 
The appointed evening came, and carriage after car- 
riage rolled up to the door, depositing its living 
freight. Henry came early, attended by his grooms- 
men. Grace had been with Emily all day, by her 
request; indeed, had given her every moment she 
could spare for many days before. 

Her services were needed in preparing the viands; 
and her exquisite taste was brought into play in the 
arrangement of the tables, no less than in the adorn- 
ment of the bride. 

It was almost literally a village festival; for the 
invitations had been general, leaving out none on the 
list of friends. The flower-gemmed bride, sur- 
rounded by her lovely cortege of attendants, looked 
very beautiful ; the groom proud and happy ; and the 
crowd smiling and cheerful. 

Mr. Brown performed the ceremony with great 
simplicity, but solemnity. His charge to the parties 

on the faithful fulfillment of the vows they had 

o 


210 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


assumed in the sight of God, was too impressive ever to 
be forgotten by those interested. A handsome wedding 
feast was spread, and the guests did ample justice to 
the abundant entertainment provided. Grace lent 
her ready wit to the amusement of every circle ^vhich 
she joined. A young lady said to her : 

‘‘ I wonder you can be so gay and happy when you 
are losing a brother.’’ 

You mistake,” she replied. I am gaining a 
sister.” 

She had schooled herself to look at it in this light, 
and smothered down the rising selfishness which had 
for a while made her unhappy in spite of herself. She 
was the first to leave the festive scene, because her 
mother was ready to go ; and she would not suffer her 
to depart without her. 

As they rode home, Annie went into raptures over 
the lovely bride. 

I shall be so glad when she comes to live with us, 
she is so handsome,” she said. Is she coming to- 
morrow, Miss Grace ? ” 

‘^JSTot to-morrow. Her mother says she cannot 
spare her so soon. She will probably come next 
week.” 

How desolate their home seemed to them that 
night ! 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


211 


Mrs. Witherspoon sank on a chair as soon as she 
was inside of the hall, and burst into tears. Grace 
tried to soothe her by every endearing art. 

I will try to make up to you, mother, for what 
you lose in him ; but he will be with us often and 
care for our wants ; and we shall have dear Emily to 
love us too. Think, mother, how much happier he 
will be to have a home of his own ; and I am sure we 
both love him well enough to rejoice at his happi- 
ness.^’ 

I do not feel as if we had a home of our own any 
more, now that our family altar is broken down,” re- 
plied her mother. 

‘^We will have prayers, mother, as usual, if you 
think your daughter is capable of leading your devo- 
tions.” 

I shall only be too glad, my daughter, if you are 
willing.” 

will try, and trust that he who searches the 
heart will accept my feeble attempt.” 

Annie untied Mrs. Witherspoon’s bonnet strings, 
and took off the bonnet and put it to place, and then 
drew off her gloves and unbuttoned her cloak. She 
sat as passive as an infant, suffering herself to be dis- 
robed. She was wholly unnerved, and took the sup- 
port of her daughter’s arm to walk to her own room. 


212 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


Annie had been there before her, and kindled up a 
cheerful fire; and Grace stood the lamp on the stand 
where the Bible and hymn book were lying in their 
accustomed place. She laid aside the hymn book, 
saying: 

We will not try to sing to-night.” 

Poor Grace ! her voice trembled so that she could 
scarcely speak at the thought of attempting to lead 
the devotions of others. She became more composed 
while reading the Bible; but when she knelt for 
prayer, the tremor returned. She spoke at first in 
broken sentences ; but after offering a few petitions, 
she became imbued with the spirit of prayer, and 
her utterances went forth with something of the free- 
dom which characterized her closet devotions ; and she 
arose from her knees happy in having been sustained 
in her first effort at the dreaded duty. 

Her mother was wakeful and nervous that night, 
and Grace sat with her for some hours after she had 
retired. At length Grace proposed to take the Bible 
and read her to sleep, to which she consented, and it 
proved a success. Then she and Annie quietly re- 
tired to their own apartments after having extin- 
guished the lights. Grace also was excited, and too 
sad to sleep, and spent the greater part of the night in 
reading and prayer. 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


213 


Early the next morning, Henry and Emily came 
over to his mother’s. 

I told Emily that as I stayed away all night, I 
would have to come home the first thing after break- 
fast, and see how you sustained your loss.” 

^^Mrs. Witherspoon and Miss Grace had liked to 
have cried all night,” said Annie. 

Grace looked at her to silence her, but it was too 
late. She saw Henry’s sad look, and was sorry that 
he had been admitted behind the scenes. She said to 
Emily, in a cheerful tone: 

Henry has been too good a son and brother for 
us to give him up calmly without tears. It seemed 
very lonely to come to the house and feel that he did 
not belong to it any more ; but we shall get accus- 
tomed to it after a while.” 

When I told Emily I was coming over here this 
morning, she said she must come too, for she had an 
errand here ; but she seems to have forgotten it. I 
suspected then it was only because she wanted to 
come with me.” 

I am only waiting for an opportunity to speak. 
You keep your tongue running so fast, I am not able 
to say a word.” 

I stand rebuked, and will be silent while you 
deliver your message.” 


214 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


I came to beg you to go to New York with us, 
Grace, and I caunot take no for an answer.’^ 

I am sorry to refuse my new sister her first re- 
quest, but it is impossible for me to accede to this. 
Henry and I talked that all over and settled it two 
weeks ago.” 

“ But it was not settled to my satisfaction,” said 
Henry ; and now that I have some one to help me 
to plead, I am going to try again. You have been 
working entirely too hard, Grace, and you need rest ; 
and this is the very opportunity for it. We shall 
enjoy our trip so much more if you are with us ; and 
I think you would enjoy it too; and I am certain it 
would do you good.” Then, turning to his mother, 
who had just been summoned in to see them, he said : 

Emily and I are begging Grace to go with us to 
New York. Will you not join us, mother ? Emily 
has spoken to Miss Fitch about staying with you, and 
she said she would do so cheerfully, if you wished it. 
She asked her about it last week.” 

I think Annie and I could get along very well 
by ourselves ; though if Miss Lydia would come, I 
should be glad to have her. At any rate, I wish 
Grace would go. She has grown so thin, and looks 
so careworn, it worries me all the time.” 

I cannot go, mother. I have nothing suitable to 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


215 


wear. I have scarcely taken a stitch for myself this 
year ; and, besides, I cannot vacate my school now.” 

Emily offered the use of her needle; and Henry 
insisted that the school could be vacated ; and her 
mother pressed the matter, until at last Grace was 
overruled, and gave a reluctant consent. She had not 
objected to the trip because she did not wish to see 
New York, but because she did not consider it best. 
When she had once yielded her judgment to that of 
her friends, she entered into the necessary prepara- 
tions for her departure with great interest. Her 
mother’s comfort was first to be looked after. In the 
way of household stores there was nothing lacking; 
for Henry had taken pains before his marriage to fill 
the storeroom with abundant supplies. The services 
of the desired companion was procured ; and, with 
the assistance of Emily, Grace soon had the necessary 
additions made to her wardrobe, and the trio left in 
fine spirits for their pleasure trip. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


GRACE MEETS GEORGE IN NEW YORK. 



RACE’S first letter to her mother from New 
York ran thus: 


My Dear Mother : 

The stage in which we left was crowded, as you know ; but 
we kept receiving accessions to our numbers all the way 
along, until when we reached Albany there were about as 
many outside of the stage as in it. We were glad enough to 
leave it for comfortable quarters in a hotel, where we could 
have the privilege of a bath and clean clothes, which were a 
luxury after our dirty journey. We remained in Albany two 
days, and enjoyed ourselves very much. We thought the 
city immense, for we had not seen New York then. There 
seemed to be no end to its interminable rows of houses ; and 
no wares nor goods of any description on earth that could be 
called for but what might be found there. We stopped at a 
splendid hotel, had two large finely furnished rooms, adjoin- 
ing each other, and a private parlor, which Henry and 
Emily enjoyed very much, as they spent so much time in it. 
For myself, I am free to confess that my old plebeian tastes 
were in the ascendant, and I preferred the public parlor 
what time we were in the house. 

I would get a seat by some window, and, partly screened 

by its drapery, my eyes on the street, and my ears in the 
216 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


217 


house, would use whichever sense was most powerfully ap- 
pealed to. I could see on the street many unique and curi- 
ous sights, and in the house some rare exhibitions of charac- 
ter. We made our time count in sight-seeing, I assure you. 

We went one day to a Shaker settlement, about nine miles 
from the city. It was a day of worship with them, and we 
witnessed their peculiar manner of praising Grod. It seemed 
very senseless to my poor human judgment ; but he who 
sounds the profoundest depths of human motives, may find 
in it that heart service which is acceptable in his sight. The 
perfect order and cleanliness about their persons and dwell- 
ings and streets, and everything belonging to them, com- 
manded my highest admiration. I cannot understand how 
so many people could be brought together, all of them so 
uniformly neat. 

We always look upon pigs as a very filthy animal ; and if 
I have not heard that they thrive best in the dirt, I have 
always thought so. Yet these people hold different views. 
Their hog pens are arranged near cisterns, are nicely floored, 
and a pump conveys water into them ; and the animals 
themselves are compelled to submit to daily ablutions ; while 
the floors of their pens are as clean as the floors of our 
dwellings. Everything else is similarly neat. I concluded 
they must have a large supply of one thing which rarely 
comes to me — time^ or they would not be able to give so 
much to what, in some instances, appeared to me needless 
labor. 

I believe time is the only thing I have ever envied any 
one, if indeed envy ever finds a place in my heart. I have 
often wished I had more time, while I have seen many who 


218 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


squandered it as if it were of no value. But it is easy to 
account for these people having plenty of it ; for, as they 
abjure the marriage relation, they have no children among 
them to care for ; and as the nurture and training of children 
is the most important duty assigned to us, so it is the most 
engrossing ; indeed, in the household it occupies more time 
than all other duties combined. In a community where all 
are workers, it is reasonable to suppose there would be 
plenty of time ; but I think it is purchased at too dear a 
price by banishing children from the domestic circle ; nor 
can it be in accordance with the economy of him who “set- 
teth the solitary in families. ’ ’ 

I shall have many things to tell you when I see you, of 
my visit to this strange people, which I cannot write for 
want of time. 

We left Albany the next Friday after leaving you, in the 
packet sloop “Mary Jane,” Captain Moore, master. We 
were ten days on the river. We found Captain Moore very 
gentlemanly and obliging. His table was bountifully and 
luxuriously supplied, which was quite an item to people who 
had nothing to do but eat and drink and sleep. But I did 
not get out of work ; in fact, did not accomplish all that I 
intended to ; for one of our fellow passengers had laid in 
such a supply of attractive books that I devoted a great part 
of my time to reading, scarcely opening one of my own 
books. I thought I could read them at any time. 

The scenery on the Hudson is very beautiful, and I never 
wearied of admiring it, which we had ample time to do, as 
you may judge from the length of time consumed in the 
voyage. We were becalmed several times ; once for two 


•» 


4 




George Austin* 


Page 319 









GEORGE AUSTIN. 


219 


days and nights. Captain Moore said he knew we could 
testify to his being a good-natured man ; that any captain of 
a vessel who could stand being becalmed without getting 
angry, was obliged to pass for such. We had worship on 
board the first Sunday we were out. My friend, who had 
so many books, was a minister, and preached for us. The 
next Sunday we were so near port all day — we got in in the 
evening — that there was too much excitement on board, the 
captain thought, to have preaching. 

W e had some very fine singers on board, and one gentle- 
man who played the flute ; and we had music on deck every 
evening, and the finest I think that I ever heard. We fre- 
quently sung until midnight. Being on the water gave great 
flexibility and richness to the sounds. 

We stood with bonnets on, ready to go ashore, and wait- 
ing only until the packet was made fast, when I felt a hand 
on my shoulder, and a voice said, “Grace.” I looked up, 
and George Austin stood before me. If I had not known 
his voice as he called my name, I am not sure that I should 
have recognized him, he has altered so much. His whiskers 
have become very heavy, and he has grown to look so much 
older, and his countenance has a careworn expression. 

He drew my arm in his so much after the old manner, 
that I could easily forget we had been separated. He raised 
his finger to a carriage driver who was some distance from 
us, and he was at our side in a moment. He seated us in 
the carriage, and we were soon at his boarding house. I 
had stipulated with brother that we were not to go there to 
stay, and he had promised to make other arrangements ; but 
he had written George that we were coming, and George had 


220 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


engaged the rooms for us here ; and Mrs. Somers tells us he 
has been paying for them for the last week, so it seems as if 
it could not be helped ; but I regret it. 

I shall never think Albany a large city again. It cannot 
compare with this one. The streets are so crowded that it 
does not seem to me there can be anybody left in the houses ; 
and there are so many carriages and carts and drays that 
there is constant danger of collision. I tell Henry I believe 
I will not ride again while I am here, for I am in terror all 
the time. He says then I cannot see much of the city. 

There is a great deal of wealth and style and fashion here ; 
splendid carriages and horses ; and fine houses and furni- 
ture ; and people dress as well every day as we do at home 
on dress occasions ; but there is a great deal of squalid 
wretchedness as well. Beggars meet you at every step ; and 
the most wretched and miserable looking objects — deformed 
and crippled and blind — and they plead for help so piteously. 
George took my purse out of my hands yesterday and 
brought it home, and gave it to brother, and told him 1 was 
not to be trusted with it ; that I would give away everything 
I had. I asked him if he never gave them anything ; he 
said sometimes, but that many of them were wholly unde- 
serving ; that they maimed themselves on purpose to excite 
compassion, so that they might live without work ; that 
fathers had been known to put out the eyes of their own 
children, in order to rouse sympathy and make successful 
beggars of them. Only think how horrible ! 

Besides being so much to see in the streets here, there is a 
great deal to hear. The sounds are almost deafening. Men 
and boys, and even girls, go about the streets hawking dif- 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


221 


ferent things, vegetables and fruit, and anything they have 
to sell, and scream out what it is they have, sometimes in 
your very face, as you pass them, and often so many of 
them at a time, each calling out his own wares, that it is one 
incessant clatter. 

Mother, the strangest thing of all to tell you is, that 
Judge Reese has called on me several times, and George is 
jealous of him. This is the strange part. His wife has 
been dead something over a year, and they say he is looking 
for another ; but he cannot, of course, be looking at me with 
any such views. He is an old man, and his hair is turning 
gray. I am surprised that George should suppose he could 
want me ; or, if he does, that I could think for a moment of 
marrying a man old enough to be my father. I am not at 
all complimented by such an opinion ; and think that one 
who has known me as long as he has, ought to know me 
better. Henry is writing to you, and Emily to her mother ; 
and if they have written as long letters as I, this mail will 
carry quite a budget to our little town. 

Please tell Annie she must be a good girl, and read the 
Bible to you, as I told her, night and morning ; and if she 
does not pray with you, I hope she does not neglect her own 
prayers. Tell Miss Lydia, please, not to let my mother get 
lonesome. And now, my dear mother, I commend you to 
God. I trust his protecting love will be over you, and bring 
us soon to meet again in peace. You must not forget to pray 
for me, mother. I need your prayers. I am so often 
tempted to do wrong. I think it would have been better for 
me if I had stayed in my quiet home ; but I hope the Lord 
will enable me to do what is right. To-morrow will be Sun- 


222 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


day, and we have laid plans to worship in three different 
churches. We are to go in the morning with Judge Reese 
to his church, to which he seems much devoted. He be- 
longs to Trinity, and claims that his rector is the best 
preacher in the city. In the afternoon we are to go to the 
Broome Street, and at night to the Oliver Street Church. 
I am very anxious to hear Mr. Cone. I have heard so 
much of him. George says that is where he used to go 
when he went to church ; but he does not attend anywhere 
now. He has promised to go with us to-morrow, but says he 
has not been inside of a church in six months. Is it not 
dreadful? I think perhaps the Lord sent me here, that I 
might pity him more, and pray for him more faithfully. 

I hope this long letter will compensate for the short one I 
sent you from Albany, as well as for my seeming neglect 
since we arrived here. I knew Henry had written ; and it 
seems almost impossible for me, in this Babel of a city, to 
withdraw myself sufficiently from the din and confusion 
about me to write ; but perhaps I shall do better when I get 
more accustomed to it. Your ever affectionate child, 

Grace Witherspoon. 

The morniDg of the Lord’s Day dawned clear and 
bright. Grace rose early to greet it. She looked out 
of her window, and, for once, a measure of quiet 
rested on the streets. The bakers’ and the milk- 
men’s carts traveled as usual their daily routes ; but 
there was not — as on all other mornings, and as there 
had been up to the hour of midnight on the previous 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


223 


night — people swarming like bees on their way to 
and from Fulton Market, which was not far from 
her boarding house. George soon joined her in the 
parlor, early as it was. He had heard her room 
door open, and the light footstep on the stairs which 
he knew to be hers. His toilet was soon made, and 
he was at her side. He said; 

As you are to spend the morning with J udge 
Reese, I thought I would steal a little chat with you 
before he comes.” 

I expect to spend not only the morning, George, 
but all day in the worship of God, as I always do.” 

Yet I cannot but wish that I was to accompany 
you rather than he.” 

‘^Then why did you not say so? You are to go 
with me in the evening, and at night; and if I had 
known that you desired to accompany me all day, I 
would cheerfully have made my arrangements to ac- 
cord with your wishes. It is too late to alter them 
now. Hereafter you must keep me posted in your 
wishes. We have not met before for years, George, 
and when we separate this time, we may meet again 
never on earth ; for our paths in life will lead us 
different ways. Let us spend the time we are to- 
gether in such a way that it will leave us none but 
pleasant reflections for the future.” 


224 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


You talk of living apart, Grace, as if it was the 
easiest thing in the world. It is torture to me ; but 
to you it is matter of indifference. You are my other 
self. My being is incomplete without you ; yet you 
doom me to the misery which such a state of things 
must necessarily produce.^’ 

It is Sunday morning, George. Such conversa- 
tion will not put our minds in the devotional frame 
which belongs to sacred hours. Suppose we read the 
Bible. May I read it to you ? ” 

I would rather have you talk. But as you 
please.’’ 

She took the little pocket Bible which she had 
brought down stairs with her to use, and, turning to 
Isaiah’s glowing words, commenced : Ho, every one 
that thirsteth, come ye to the waters ; and he that 
hath no money, come ye, buy and eat; yea, come; buy 
wine and milk without money and without price.” 
She continued reading the lofty strain, and with so 
much pathos and feeling, it touched George to the 
heart, and his tears fell like rain ; and, ere long, he 
became so convulsed with his emotions, that, as he 
heard footsteps approaching the parlor, he arose and 
sought the solitude of his own room. He did not 
make his appearance at the breakfast table, nor did 
Grace see him again until they went to dinner. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


A lord’s day in new YORK. 

TUDGE REESE came in his carriage; Grace, 
with her brother, and his wife, joined him, and 
they drove to Trinity. As they approached the 
church, Grace heard, for the first time in her life, a 
chime of bells. The sacred quiet of the day, and the 
knowledge that these tuneful bells were calling wor- 
shipers to the house of prayer, gave added solemnity 
and richness to their tones. She scarcely heard the 
remarks that Judge Reese was addressing to her, and 
gave no connected replies to them, so engrossed was 
she with their musical refrain. She could almost 
fancy that she heard the words of the Portuguese 
Hymn which they were chiming — 

Oh, coiiie and let us worship. 

She was awe-struck as she entered the building, 
which was so much more magnificent than any she 
had ever seen. If she was dazzled by its splendor, 
she was none the less moved by the rich notes of its 
organ, as they swelled and reverberated through the 
building. 




226 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


How magnificent the music ! How solemn the 
chants ! How imposing the forms ! She felt as if 
upon enchanted ground. Henry and Emily Avere 
scarcely less impressed. On their way home all three 
were silent, all wrapped in their own musings. 
Henry invited Judge Reese to stay and dine with 
them, which he did. 

After dinner, as they gathered in the parlor, the 
conversation turned upon the services of the morning. 
Judge Reese said : 

I cannot get an opinion out of Miss Witherspoon 
as to what she thinks of the rector of Trinity.’’ 

I hardly know myself,” Grace said. I thought 
the sermon good, what there was of it, but not better 
than I am in the habit of hearing at home. Every- 
thing was very grand and very imposing. I suppose 
if those who usually worship here were to enter the 
plain, unadorned edifice where I am in the habit of 
worshiping when at home, they would feel as much 
out of place as I did this morning in trying to serve 
God, when my curious eyes were constantly straying 
to feast themselves upon unusual sights, and my at- 
tention all the time diverted by the novel music, and 
the, to me, still more novel rites. But I think if he 
who is familiar with the secret springs of every heart, 
were to look down upon our little band of worshipers 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


227 


when assembled for his service, he would find, per- 
haps, as large a proportion of those gathered there 
who worship him in spirit and in truth as he would 
in a building where there is more to delight the eye 
and please the taste. Nor can I think the refined 
worship of your city temples any more pleasing in 
his eyes than the ruder, but not less sincere devotions 
of our rustic congregations.’’ 

“You ought to be a lawyer’s wife,” said Judge 
Reese. “You could write his speeches for him.” 

She did not look at George, but she knew his eyes 
had turned to her as she answered : 

“ When I marry, Judge, if I ever should, I shall 
expect my husband to relieve me of some burdens, 
instead of imposing additional ones.” 

“I think she has the best of it this time. Judge,” 
George said, with a gratified smile. 

It was soon time for them to be thinking about 
church. The Judge said : 

“I ordered my carriage back liere after dinner, to 
take you to your afternoon service. It has been at 
the door this half hour. As you were kind enough 
to go with me this morning, I would like to return 
the compliment aud go with you now, ladies, if you 
will accept my company.” They of course acquiesced, 
and the Judge added : 


228 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


We will make room for you, Mr. Austin, if you 
will go ; but I believe you never go to church now* 
a-days.’’ 

I thank you, but I prefer walking this afternoon,” 
George replied. 

Grace knew by his tone and manner that he was 
hurt by the arrangement, but she had had no hand in 
making it, and could not control it. Her hymn book 
was on the table near which he sat, and as she went 
to get it, and stood facing him, she said : 

Please go with us, George.” 

Though mollified by her request, he shook his 
head; and as she insisted, he replied; 

am going to church, but not with you. I 
should be one too many with some of the party, 
and they might suppose that I had intended it pur- 
posely.” 

‘‘We are waiting for you, sister,” cried Henry. 

Grace turned and, walking toward them, took the 
offered arm of Judge K-eese to be led to the carriage. 
If her worship had been interrupted in the morning 
by the novelty and splendor of her surroundings, it 
was no less disturbed that afternoon by the remem- 
berance of George’s disappointment in not being 
able to accompany her. It was in vain that she 
kept repeating to herself: 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


229 


He might have come if he would. It was his 
own fault.’^ 

That did not help the matter. His look of chagrin 
haunted her all the same. But his time came at 
last. When the hour for evening service arrived, 
no carriage awaited them. Henry escorted Emily, 
and he was glad to find himself alone with Grace. 
As they walked on she said: 

“You would not go with me this afternoon, when 
I wanted you to. I ought to show proper resentment, 
and not go with you now.’’ 

“ [ did not think it best, Grace. I feared Judge 
Reese would think I was only going to watch him.” 

They were fortunate enough to hear Mr. Cone, 
and his sermon was very able and impressive. Grace 
said to her brother, in coming out : 

“ I have been fed to-night. The first spiritual food 
I have had to-day.” 

In going back to their boarding-house George had 
little to say. Just before they approached it, he said 
to Grace: 

“I am longing for a few minutes uninterrupted 
conversation with you, Grace. Will you not give 
me an hour alone with you to-night ? The parlor is 
almost always empty at this hour, particularly on 
Sunday night.” 


230 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


know what you wish to say, George, and it will 
be of no use. I would rather not hear it.” 

You must hear me, Grace, only this once. I can- 
not be denied.” 

^^For this once then, George; and after this, this 
subject must be at rest between us forever.” 

When they came in, George seated himself on the 
sofa beside her; and Henry and Emily had hardly 
closed the door behind them, leaving them alone 
together, before he took her hand in his, saying: 

^^All day, Grace, your words have been ringing in 
my ears, ‘ Ho every one that thirsteth, come ye to the 
waters.’ My soul is parched and burning up with 
unutterable thirst, but I cannot come. Oh, my 
darling, why are you so deaf to my entreaties ? 
If you would only marry me, your influence, and 
counsels, and prayers, might save my soul from 
everlasting ruin.” 

^‘Nothing can save you, George, but the blood of 
Jesus. That was shed for your sins, and it is free to 
you, and to all who apply for it.” 

“Not for me.” 

“Why do you say this, George? The pardon is 
full and free, and no difficult service is required of 
you. It is only to look and live. ^Look unto me 
and be ye saved, all ye ends of the earth, for I am 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


231 


God, and there is none other.’ ‘ Ho every one that 
thirsteth, come ye to the waters.’ There is a fountain 
opened in the house of David for sin and for unclean- 
ness. It can purge the foulest crime, and can wash 
away the darkest sin.” 

These promises can never apply to me ; for I have 
committed the unpardonable sin.” 

“ My dear George, you deceive yourself. This is 
but one of Satan’s temptations, which would lead 
you to think thus. God is waiting to be gracious 
to you; you have nothing to do but to repent and 
believe on the Lord Jesus Christ.” 

have tried to believe that his blood was shed 
for me, and to lay hold on the promises, and claim 
them as my own; but something seems to mock, 
and continually to say to me, ^Away with your 
hypocritical services.’ 

I desire to be reconciled to God above everything 
else on earth. I know that I desire it, and you 
know it too; for my being is bound up in its yearn- 
ings to claim you as my wife, and my only hope is 
through reconciliation with God.” 

‘Mf your desire to serve God, George, arises from 
no higher motive than this, it has no value whatever. 
Prayers offered from such a motive will never reach 
the ear of the Holiest.” 


232 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


was going on to say, Grace, that all powerful 
as this motive is, if I know my own heart, it is not 
the strongest one that actuates me. I dread the just 
displeasure of God. I know, for the Bible tells me, 
that his wrath will be poured out upon all un- 
believers. Yet I cannot believe in him, in the sense 
which will secure the pardon of my sins. I desire 
to be reconciled to him through the blood of Christ.^^ 

“You deceive yourself, George, in supposing that 
you are anxious to secure the favor of God. If you 
really were so, you would not absent yourself from 
his service for months together, as you have done and 
are doing.’^ 

“ I find no comfort there. I have not always kept 
away from the church; and it was the same thing 
when I went.” 

“We have no right to stay away from the worship 
of God because we find no comfort there. We 
ought to be actuated by a higher motive in going 
there than a search after comfort. We must obey 
God’s commandments, because they are his command- 
ments — not to please ourselves, or to make ourselves 
comfortable. 

“You speak of being reconciled to God. Did it 
over occur to you that the work is, in a just sense, 
your own ? It is not God who needs to be reconciled 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


233 


to US. He is ready to receive sinners; and now 
we have only to be reconciled to him. The apostle 
said, ^ We pray you in Christ’s stead be ye reconciled 
to God.’ Come, then, to Jesus, George. Come to 
him now. Accept him this very minute, and go back 
to your duty. Enter his church and work for Jesus.” 

I am not fit to be in his church. I disgraced it 
once.” 

“ ‘ All the fitness he requireth 
Is to feel your need of him. 

This he gives you — 

’Tis his Spirit’s rising beam.’ 

You must give yourself up to his service with all 
your heart. He accepts no half-way sacrifices ; they 
are an abomination in his eyes. There is some 
stumbling-block in the way of your peace which 
I cannot discover. Search your own heart; you may 
find it out. Perhaps you dread the jeers of gay 
companions.” 

‘‘God knows I do not. Once I was foolish enough 
to do so, and it drove me out of the church. Now I 
care more for your good opinion than for that of 
everybody else combined, and I cannot have yours 
unless I love the Saviour. It is no less my interest 
than my duty to love him, and still my heart is 
hardened against him.” 


234 


GEOEGE AUSTIX. 


‘‘You believe that Jesus died for sinners; then 
why not accept the salvation which his blood has 
purchased?’’ 

“Oh, Grace, it is dreadful to be an unbeliever. 
None can know the awful misery, who has not tasted 
it — to live and have no hope for the future — to feel 
yourself, even here, laboring under the curse of an 
angry God, and to anticipate with terrible forebod- 
ings the hereafter. You say you fear that I would 
gain an influence over you which would make you 
such. I would rather see you in your grave.” 

“You may believe, George; you must believe what 
God says.” 

“ I don’t know how to believe.” 

“Well, come to God in prayer, that he will help 
you to know Jesus and trust him. Make a business 
of it. Pray every day, and more than once a day for 
a year ; for two years ; and for your life time. Re- 
solve that you will pray as long as you live. Read 
the Bible. Study it to find out what Jesus is, and 
what God’s promises in Jesus are; and when you 
know them, cast yourself on the love of Jesus and on 
God’s promises in him. Resolve to rest on those 
promises, and if you perish, perish there. Will you 
promise me to do this, George, and constantly to cry 
to God for his help, for Jesus’ sake?” 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


235 


will.’’ 

Solemnly ? ” 

Solemnly, as God is my witness ” 

‘^Let us kneel together, and in silence ask God 
to help you to keep your promise.” 

And the voiceless prayer went up from both their 
hearts that God would give him the help he needed. 
When they rose from their knees, and Grace said it 
was time for them to separate for the night, George 
begged her first to read the Bible with him once 
more, the same chapter which she had read to him 
in the morning, and which he had read several 
times through the day, as if they were charmed 
words. 

Grace went to her room that night with a lighter 
heart than she had had for years. She prayed long 
and earnestly that God would visit iu mercy the 
heart of him to whom she clung so fondly, and 
comfort him with his rich grace, and lead his 
troubled soul once more beside the still waters of 
peace. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


A FEARFUL ACCIDENT. 


X the following morning our young friends were 



^ to go out together to make some purchases of 
furniture. They were delayed in getting away ; and 
finally, before they started, Judge Reese sent in his 
card, asking to see Miss Witherspoon. This was the 
first time he had asked for her. Before this his calls 
had been made upon Mr. and Mrs. Witherspoon. 
Emily rallied her a little upon being specially asked 
for, and said; 

‘^What are we to do while he stays? wait for him 
to leave, or go without you?’’ 

‘^Wait awhile for me; you need not take your 
bonnet otf, for he surely will not stay long when he 
sees me prepared to go out.” 

Emily sat down at the window to amuse herself by 
looking at the passers by — a never failing source of 
interest to her. The clock struck ten, then eleven, 
then twelve, and one, and two, and still no Grace 
appeared. Emily went to her room and laid aside 
her street garniture, as the dinner hour approached ; 


236 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


237 


nor did she see her until just as the dinner bell rung, 
when she came up-stairs to prepare herself for the 
table. She looked flushed and excited, and scarcely 
ate at all. 

'^We must hurry and get away before Judge Reese 
comes again,” Emily said, after dinner. 

He will not come again,” said Grace. 

^‘You speak very decidedly,” replied her brother. 

Grace, feeling that she had committed herself, 
tried to turn aside her toother’s bantering by saying: 

‘^Of course, you would not expect a man to visit 
you twice in one day, particularly if he came near 
staying all day the first time.” 

Henry was in a humor to tease, and he said: 

I shrewdly suspect somebody has received walk- 
ing papers this morning, and been told that it was 
unnecessary for him to come again.” 

‘^Are we to go down town or to stay here talking 
all day about nothing ? ” asked Grace. 

George said it was too far to walk where we 
wanted to go, and he has gone out to order a 
carriage. There — one has stopped at the door now. 
I presume that is he.” 

So it proved to be, and they were soon on their 
way. They drove to many establishments, and 
Emily selected her carpets, and most of her heavy 


238 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


furniture; and when the tea-hour approached, they 
turned their horses^ heads homewards. 

The evening was cloudy, and had become very dark. 
There were no street-lamps lighted, as, to use a com- 
mon expression of the citizens, the moon was under 
contract to shine ; but she did not make her appearance. 

As the driver suddenly turned the corner to go 
down another street, he ran against another vehicle 
— broke the tongue of the carriage, and frightened 
the horses, who plunged and ran, upsetting the car- 
riage, and dragging it some few hundred yards 
before they got loose from it, and left it there, with 
Emily and Grace still in it, scarcely knowing whether 
they had life or limb left. Henry and George had 
been pitched out before, being on a front seat, which 
was open ; and the driver was thrown from his box 
with the same jerk which had thrown them out. 

There was a crowd around them in a moment, and 
they were extricated from the ruins of the carriage, 
both badly bruised. Emily was so much hurt that 
she could neither walk nor stand alone; while the 
most serious injury which Grace received was in one 
of her arms, which she thought was broken, the pain 
in it was so intense. But she made no complaint of 
her own suffering; so eager was she to learn the fate 
of her brother and George. 


GEORG e: AUSTIN. 


239 


^‘Take my sister iuto this store while I go and 
look for my brother/’ she said. 

‘^One of the young gentlemen is killed/’ cried a 
voice in the crowd. 

My husband, oh, my husband ! ” shrieked Emily, 
and then she fainted, and lay limp and lifeless in the 
arms of those who were carrying her. 

Anxious as Grace was to retrace her steps, and 
learn the fate of the others, she could not leave 
Emily. She said to one of the by-standers: 

Please send a messenger to tell the gentlemen we 
are safe, and to bring us tidings of them.” 

Then she followed Emily into the store, and aided 
in preparing a place on the counter where she could 
be laid, while the words rung in her ears; ‘^One of 
the gentlemen is killed.” Which was it? How 
awful to think it could be either ! How could she 
forbear to fly to them? Yet her first duty was here. 
Some blankets had been hastily opened and spread as 
a bed for Emily, and a bolt of homespun served as a 
pillow, and on this they laid her insensible form. 
Grace was engaged taking otf her bonnet, and loosen- 
ing her wrappings, while parties had been dispatched 
for a physician and for restoratives. 

Just then Henry made his appearance. His eyes 
fell first on Emily, and he thought her dead. Grace 


240 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


at the same time first saw his horror-stricken face, 
and her fears were confirmed. George was indeed 
dead. For a second the brother and sister were 
locked in each other’s arms, in silence, when Grace 
turned again to aid in resuscitating Emily. 

As soon as Henry understood that those around her 
were making efforts to restore her, the thought that 
there Avas still hope sent a thrill of joy through his 
being. ,She moves — she breathes. Oh, what a prayer 
of thanksgiving went up from his overcharged heart ! 
He put his arm up under her head, and drew it up 
on to his breast; he bent over her with passionate 
tenderness ; he called her by every fond and endear- 
ing name ; and when her eyes opened, they rested on 
lier husband’s face, and a bright, happy smile played 
about her mouth. 

Meantime Grace had sought tidings of George. 
He was alive, and that was all ; there was no hope 
for him ; he was wholly insensible. As soon as 
Emily revived, Grace said : 

I leave her with you now, Henry. I must go to 
George. Where is he ? ” 

In a store two blocks below here ; but you cannot 
go alone.” 

‘^We could not both leave Emily. I will find the 
place.” 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


241 


But you must not go by yourself. Wait a few 
minutes ; perhaps I can go then.’^ 

A gentleman in the crowd said : 

I will escort you, miss, if you will allow me.’’ 

“ Thank you,” she replied, taking his offered arm. 

He inquired in whose store the sufferer was to be 
found, and they walked on in silence. She entered 
the store, and approached a low couch, which had 
been brought from a neighbor’s house to move George 
on, and on which he was now lying. A physician 
stood beside him, with his hand on his pulse. The 
young man who had escorted her said to him : 

This is his sister.” 

She did not take the trouble to undeceive them; 
but turned and asked of the doctor : 

‘^Is there any hope?” 

Always while life lasts,” he replied, and his eyes 
rested on her with a benignant gaze. 

She knelt beside the couch of the sufferer. She 
took possession of the sponge with which a stander-by 
was bathing his temples, and herself applied the 
fomentation. His countenance was distorted with the 
swelling, and the bruises on his face disfigured him so 
that Grace would scarcely have known him. His 
hair, no longer soft and glossy, was matted together 
with blood. 

Q 


242 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


consider his situation extremely critical/’ the 
physician said. His injuries seefn to be mostly in 
his head, though I have fears that the spine is injured 
also.” 

Will it be safe to move him ? ” 

Not in a vehicle. The jolting might be fatal.” 

Could not a litter be procured, and some men to 
bear it?” 

Perhaps so. I will see if I can make that 
arrangement.” 

One of the gentlemen in the crowd which was still 
standing around, offered very kindly to go out and 
procure the desired article and men to bear it. Be- 
fore he returned, Henry came in again. He had got 
Emily in a carriage ; but it was with great difficulty 
that he had induced her to be put in, though one of 
her ankles was so badly sprained that she could not 
bear her weight on it. The idea of riding terrified 
her so that she was in a tremor with nervousness. 
Henry said : 

‘‘ You can get in and ride up with her, and I will 
stay with George and attend to having him brought 
up.” 

She hesitated for a few moments, unwilling to 
leave George, but concluded that it was best for her 
to do so. She went out to the carriage, and found 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


243 


Emily shaking as if with an ague, in her excessive 
trepidation. She turned back, saying: 

Emily needs her husband; you must get in here. 
I will come up with George.” 

You cannot, Grace. It is more than a mile, and 
so dark; and you alone, no friend here.” 

‘^But Emily is suffering so, and I think she will be 
re-assured when you get in.” 

Emily listened as if it were a matter of life and 
death. She earnestly wished that Henry would accede 
to Grace^s proposition; but she would not ask it; 
it would be so selfish. He was obliged to accede 
to it, for Grace would not have it otherwise. He 
then said to her: 

Well, then, you stay herewith George until I take 
Emily up, then I will come back ; but it will be some 
time first; for Emily will not consent to have the 
horses go out of a walk, and I have stipulated with 
the driver to that effect.” 

‘‘You need not come back, Henry; you might 
probably miss us if you did. I shall try to get 
George home as soon as possible, where we can 
make him more comfortable.” 

The men soon came with their litter; George was 
placed upon it, and they started forward. The physi- 
cian rode up with them in his gig, by request of 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


244 

Grace, who was not willing that he should leave 
him. He begged her to take a seat with him, but 
she preferred walking, that she might watch George 
the more closely. She took advantage of the light 
which gleamed from the store windows and the 
lighted dwellings which they passed, to scan his 
features, and see if there was any change. She 
could discover none. She was sufferingly intensely 
with her arm. Their progress was very slow^ If 
the litter bearers quickened their pace at all, she 
checked them, so fearful was she of injuring her 
patient. The way seemed to her interminable. 

She thought they must have lost the way; that if 
they had not they would surely have reached their 
destination sooner. But no— the doctor said they 
were right. 

Still they tramped on, and on, and still George 
remained in the same state — just alive, and that was 
all. What if he should die as they went along? 
How could she ever get another step if he did ? But 
God would take care of her. He had been her God 
in many a trial. He would not desert her now. Her 
heart sent up a silent prayer to him, and was com- 
forted. 

This is the place,” was announced, at last. 

How grateful the words were ! Henry stood at the 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


245 


door awaiting them. Emily was in bed, and more 
composed, but suffering greatly. They carried George 
to his own room, and Grace sought the solitude of 
hers, that she might pour out her surcharged heart 
before God. 

On arising from her knees she tried to get her 
dress off, that she might examine her arm. She 
could neither get the sleeve up nor down. She took 
a pair of scissors and cut it open. The arm was 
terribly inflamed and swollen. She sent for the 
physician to come to her room, when he could be 
spared from George. When he came he said there 
was no bone broken, but the bone of the elbow joint 
was injured, and it would cause her great suffering. 
He said she must be a heroine at bearing pain, or she 
would have complained of this before now. He was 
astonished at her fortitude. He prescribed for her, and 
Mrs. Somers procured and applied the liniment. She 
had told Henry to call her as soon as George was in 
bed, and she could come to him. Impatient to go, 
she had stationed herself in the hall near his door, 
and when admitted to her patient, she took her station 
by his bedside, and, regardless of her own suffering, 
spent every moment of that long and weary night in 
tending the unconscious sufferer. Henry shared her 
vigils, but left occasionally to visit Emily’s bedside. 


246 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


and give to her the sympathy she needed; for what 
with her suffering from her injuries, and her ner- 
vousness, she was almost as wakeful as the watchers 
themselves. 

The physician spent some hours more at the bed- 
side of George, when he threw himself on a sofa 
standing in the room, to catch some broken slumber, 
with instructions to wake him every hour, or more 
frequently still, if there was any change in his 
patient. To keep his parched lips moist, and his 
burning forehead cool, and the liniment applied to 
his bruises, Grace made her own peculiar mission. 
She carefully washed the blood from his hair, and 
combed it out smoothly, and spent every moment 
that she could spare from other duties in rubbing his 
Lands to keep up the circulation. 

He lay in the same torpid, unconscious state until 
about day-break the next morning, when he roused, 
and attempted to raise himself in the bed, but was 
unsuccessful. He saw Grace, and was bewildered, 
not knowing where he was, nor what was the 
matter. Soon his recollection returned to him. He 
remembered that he had been thrown from the car- 
riage. After inquiring about Emily, and wondering 
that they were not all killed, he closed his eyes 
again. The next time he opened them they rested 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


247 


upon Grace, with soft, sweet radiance, as he re- 
peated the words: 

every one that thirsteth, come ye to the 
waters, and he that hath no money, come, buy wine 
and milk, without money and without price.’ My 
darling, my soul is bathing in the fullness of that 
fountain, and drinking of the river of the water 
of life. Jesus has spoken pardon to my sin-sick 
soul, and given my troubled conscience rest. On 
that night, when we pledged together those solemn 
vows, the peace of Christ took possession of me; 
from that hour it has flowed like a river. 

“ All day yesterday I tried to get a few moments 
alone with you, that I might communicate to you the 
joyful tidings. I thought we would together offer 
mutual thanksgivings. Oh, Grace, can I ever praise 
God enough, that in this trying hour his presence 
cheers me?” 

Grace was in tears and on her knees by his bedside 
before he had half finished his sentence, with the 
thanksgiving of old Simeon in her heart, and a feeling 
that she was ready to depart in peace, now that her 
eyes had seen the salvation of God. He continued ; 

Dear Grace, I am very ill. I have no idea that 
I shall ever rise from this bed. I must have received 
mortal injuries. If I am taken away, you must not 


248 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


grieve for me ; rather rejoice that the poor weary soul 
has at last found rest. Life has been only a burden 
to me since I first turned my back on Christ. None 
but the All-seeing knows what I have suftered ; and 
now he is so gracious to me. Oh, so good, to give 
me this comfort, while I feel that there is an open 
grave awaiting me,’’ and he closed his eyes wearily 
and was again silent. 

Henry was scarcely less agitated than Grace. His 
heart was full of gratitude to God for the rich conso- 
lation of seeing the friend he loved once more re- 
joicing in the love of Christ. Grace rose from her 
knees, and said ; 

I leave him with you, Henry,” and she passed 
out of the room to seek her own, that she might give 
way to the uncontrollable emotion with which her 
heart was heaving. Kneeling, she poured forth 
grateful thanksgivings to him who had graciously 
answered her prayers. 

It would be dreadful to her to see George die, and 
give him up forever; but how was the anguish of 
that bitter hour softened by the knowledge that he 
would sleep in Jesus, and that in the resurrection 
morn their souls would meet and mingle in the bliss 
of heaven. 


CHAPTER XXY. 


WEARY WATCHINGS. 

A FTER her feelings had found vent, she returned 
to her post. George had missed her, and was 
glad to hear the light footfall of her returning step. 
As she took her seat beside liim again, he took her 
hand in his, and said : 

You have been to thank God.’’ 

Her swimming eyes uttered the ^^yes” which her 
lips confirmed. 

‘‘Can you not thank him with me, here, and 
now?” 

Grace looked at her brother, and he responded to 
her look by saying, “ Let us pray.” And the brother 
and sister knelt, and he oifered such a prayer as the 
solemnity of that hour alone could dictate. 

The tears rolled down the swollen cheeks of the 
sufferer, but they were the glad tears of a penitent 
heart, and told of joy and comfort in the Holy 
Ghost. The ringing of the breakfast bell roused the 
physician from his slumbers in time to hear Henry’s 

closing supplications, and see them rise from their 

249 


250 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


knees. He approached the bedside, and, seeing the 
traces of emotion in the face of George, said : 

I cannot suffer this excitement. It is as much as 
the life of my patient is worth.” 

Doctor, you would not deprive the dying soul of 
the consolations of his religion,” said George. 

have never seen any good come of this ex- 
citement about the sick,” was the physician’s 
reply. 

He and Henry went down together to break- 
fast, and he gave Henry a sharp lecture about intro- 
ducing such gloomy subjects. 

His life hangs on a hair’s breadth. I have 
scarcely the shadow of a hope for him; and if you 
terrify him by telling him he must prepare to die, 
and talk all this stuff to him, you will frighten him 
to death ; and neither my skill nor that of any other 
man can save him.” 

^‘He is as well aware of his situation, doctor, as 
you are. He says he feels himself to be a dying 
man ; but he has no fear of death. He knows that 
to him it will be the gate of endless bliss; therefore 
you need have no fear of his being frightened to 
death, by this gloomy talk, as you term it. If you 
could have heard all that he said to me on the 
subject, you would have called his conversation any- 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


251 


thing but gloomy; and it was his own request that 
prayer should be offered.” 

The physical!, however, could not be made to be- 
lieve that any but evil consequences would arise from 
such a conversation. After breakfast he left his 
orders for the patient, and took his departure, saying 
he would be in again before dinner. When Henry 
was telling Emily, after breakfast, how he had berated 
him, he said: 

could not help thinking it was fortunate you 
took your breakfast in your own room; for you 
might have become incensed if you had heard how he 
was scolding your husband.” 

What does he think of George? Has he any 
hopes of his recovery?” 

‘^Only very slight. He says his injuries on the 
head are not so dangerous as he at first thought 
tliem; but he thinks he has injured his spine, and 
says he may not live twenty-four hours; and if he 
should recover, it will be a long time first, and he 
may be a life-long cripple. I must go back to him, 
and let Grace go to breakfast. She has not eaten since 
yesterday dinner; but she would have me go first.” 

George felt persuaded that his end was approach- 
ing; but he spoke of his departure, not only with 
composure, but with joy. He said to Grace: 


252 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


should be glad to live, that I might comfort 
yon. You have ever been a blessing to me; aud 
now, if I should be spared, perhaps I could shed 
some gladness over your pathway. It is a mystery 
that I could have lived so long in rebellion against 
Christ. I can never forgive myself, but God has for- 
given me. How sweet the joy of pardoned sin! 
Your Bible reading on that Sunday morning, Grace, 
first touched my heart. Your voice fell on my ear 
like choicest music, as you read the words, ‘ Ho, every 
one that thirsteth.’ Everyone. How rich; how full 
the offers of divine grace ! You must tell father and 
mother how fully my heart trusted in Jesus, and 
what joy that trust gave me. You must comfort 
them when I am gone, Grace. My dear mother, 
how her heart has yearned over me; how she has 
prayed for me, and reasoned with me, aud plead 
with me to come back to the fold of Christ! Now 
I shall never see her again, to tell her that her 
prayers are ansNvered. You must tell her; but I 
know it would be more gratifying to her if she could 
hear it from my owm lips.’’ 

We have sent for her, George; for the doctor said 
you could not be moved home.” 

She will not get here in time. Before she can 
reach here I shall be standing at the Saviour’s feet. 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


253 


safely housed in the church triumphant. Blessed 
thought, to go no more out forever ! I could wish to 
live that I might honor Christ, if I did not fear that 
I might dishonor him. How forbearing is the love 
of Christ ! How many times, and in how many 
ways, I have denied him ! If I could only love him 
according to the measure of his forgiveness, my whole 
being would be radiant with the atmosphere of love.^’ 

It is delightful, George, to have your tongue once 
more sounding forth the Saviour’s praises, but I must 
suppress it. The doctor told me I must not let you 
talk. He said your mind ran on such gloomy topics, 
that, if I suffered you to talk at all, I must divert it 
from such sad themes.” 

Gloomy, and sad ! Ah, Grace, how little he 
knows in what a flood of joy my being is baptized ! ” 

I thought while he was talking to me,” was the 
reply of Grace, ^Giow true that the carnal mind 
knoweth not the things of the Spirit of God, neither 
can it know them, because they are spiritually dis- 
cerned ! The joy of the Christian is a sealed book 
to him ; but, in your feeble and critical state, George, 
excitement is to be deprecated, even of a pleasurable 
nature; and sweet as your voice always was to me, 
George, and a thousand times sweeter now that it is 
musical with my Saviour’s praises, a theme so dear to 


254 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


me, still, I would rather have you silent.” He 
smiled his assent and closed his eyes. 

Judge Reese called in the course of the morning. 
He was shown up to the room, where he found Grace 
seated by George’s bedside, holding his hand in hers. 
She blushed as she rose to receive him, but immedi- 
ately resumed her seat. George was sleeping, and 
they carried on their conversation in low, whispered 
tones. He expressed great regret in finding his 
friend in such a condition. He said no young man 
had ever stood so high in his estimation as George. 
He added : 

I love him as if he were my son. If I had 
known that I had so powerful a rival before the con- 
versation which I had with you yesterday morning, it 
would never have taken place. I should never think 
of competing with him. Love must be blind in more 
than one sense, or else why could I not have seen 
this?” 

George and I are early friends,” Grace said. 
^^We have been such from childhood.” 

I have always thought that he had been crossed 
in love; and Bertha thought so too. I scarcely know 
why, but there was a moodiness about him at times, 
and a spirit of misanthropy, which I thought be- 
tokened hidden grief. 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


255 


I wish you could see my daughter Bertha. She 
will be back in the city in a few weeks ; perhaps you 
may meet now. You will probably be detained here 
longer than you had thought. Will you not ? 

“ I shall not leave George until he is better, or — ” 
and her emotion choked her, and she was unable to 
finish the sentence. 

The alternative, if he did not get better, was too 
terrible to think of ; yet it was not absent from her 
thoughts for a single moment. 

George woke before his friend left, and had some 
business conversation with him. He said : 

was hoping you would come in to-day. I am 
hourly expecting my summons, and must set my 
house in order. My business is better known to you 
than to any one else, and I should be glad to leave the 
settlement of it in your hands, if you are willing.^^ 

The kind-hearted judge was too full to reply, but 
nodded his assent. 

George whispered to Grace and asked her to leave 
him alone with his friend for a little while, to make 
some business arrangements. She placed a bell 
within his reach, that he might ring for her when 
she could return ; and, charging the judge to be as 
brief as possible, and not let George talk too much, 
she left them. George said : 


256 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


‘‘I would like to have you draw up my will. 
You need not make it an elaborate one ; just simply 
bequeath all the real estate and personal property 
which I have to Grace Witherspoon ; and I consti- 
tute you my sole executor.” 

He directed him where to find writing materials; 
and the necessary paper was soon drawn up and 
signed in the presence of some of his fellow boarders, 
who were called in as they were passing through the 
hall. 

“I commend Grace to your care, Judge ; and I do 
this the more cheerfully as I am not blind to the fact 
that you admire her ; but so does every one else who 
knows her. I hope she will find a true friend in 
you, and that you will have her interests at heart in 
settling up my business.” 

The judge cheerfully promised all that he desired. 

Grace went into Emily’s room to sit with her while 
she was not wanted with George. She found her 
quite comfortable compared with what she had been, 
though still suffering. They discussed the situation 
of George ; and Emily tried to comfort Grace, telling 
her that although the physician saw so little hope of 
his recovery, yet Henry was hopeful. Grace said : 

I trust I am fully resigned to whatever may be 
the will of God in the matter. I am so grateful to 





Ci'eorge Austin^ 


Page 256 













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GEORGE AUSTIN. 


257 


him for giving to George, in this trying hour, the 
rich comforts of his grace, that I think nothing he 
can do to me will excite murmurings in me. My 
fears about him greatly predominate over my hopes ; 
but if he is taken from me, our separation will be but 
short. I too must soon enter into my rest, and I will 
wait, with patience, my appointed time. If my days 
should be prolonged until they fill the span of three 
score years and ten, it will be but a hand’s breath 
compared with eternity ; and when we are united 
there, there will be no more separation, no more 
sorrow.” 

The bell summoned her to the room she had left. 
The doctor entered it at the same time, and when he 
left he and Judge Reese left together. George told 
Grace that he had had his will made in her favor. 
She said : 

^^Why George, how could you do that?” 

Because, my darling, you are my wife, and en- 
titled to my property. I made it for you. I never 
had any other interest in making money but to share 
it with you. During all these years of our separation 
I have so wished that you could have the benefit of 
it. You belong to me now. Do you not, Grace?” 

Yes, George. Only one breach separated us, and 
now that is closed ; and if it is not the will of God 

R 


258 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


that our union should be consummated on earth, yet 
we shall belong to each other through all eteruity.^^ 

Henry had written to Mr. Austin of the condition 
of his son the night before, while sitting a watcher by 
his bedside. He advised his parents to come to him, 
not concealing from them the fact that he was in a 
critical condition, and very probably might not live 
until they reached New York. He also wrote to his 
own mother, telling her of the dreadful catastrophe, 
and saying that it might have a tendency to prolong 
their absence. 

As the second night approached, George became 
more restless, and seemed to suffer much more than 
he had through the day. Many friends had called 
and offered their services to aid in nursing him ; but 
Grace insisted that she should sit up with him that 
night, and she wished for no company but her 
brother. Henry said ; 

‘^You have not closed your eyes, Grace, since night 
before last ; you must have some sleep.’^ 

should not close my eyes away from him, Henry. 
If I could sleep any where, it would be here. We 
need not both stay awake at once, and I can, perhaps, 
get some sleep sitting by him. I know I could not 
elsewhere.’^ 

Nor would she be overruled, but kept her place. 


CHAPTER XXyi. 


MR. AND MRS. AUSTIN ARRIVE IN NEW YORK. 

TAAY after day passed, and George still lived on; 

but there was little change in him. A part of 
the time he seemed quite comfortable, though he was 
unable to move, or help himself, and a part of the 
time in great agony. Sometimes he would seem for 
hours to be almost gone, and would rally again. But 
all the time his sick bed was illuminated by the light 
of faith. It was beautiful to witness his strong 
confidence in God, and his patience under suffering. 
Once, when Grace was manifesting such strong sym- 
pathy for him, as he lay writhing in agony, he said: 

‘^It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him 
good. My sufferings start the perspiration ; but it is 
only water. My Saviour’s sufferings for me caused 
him to sweet great drops of blood. Ah, my darling, 
how could I bear this if I was not sustained by 
divine assistance? How it lightens a chastisement 
to know that it is sent by a Father’s hand !” 

Two weeks passed, and the sufferings of George were 

very much ameliorated ; aud, though his physician 

259 


260 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


did not consider him out of danger, still he had more 
hopes of him; and as Emily had recovered sufficiently 
to travel, and Henry felt as if his presence was needed 
at home, not only in his business, but by his mother, 
he decided to go, and leave his friend in the hands of 
his sister; who, it was more likely than not, would be 
aided in her ministrations by one of his parents, or, 
perhaps, by both. There had been no response to the 
letter he sent, nor had he looked for any; thinking 
it probable they would reply in person. He gave 
George up to the care of Grace, who was aided by 
his many friends, both among his fellow boarders, 
and his business acquaintances, and devoted himself 
to completing his purchases. In a few days his 
arrangements were made, and on the evening before 
he was to leave, he came into George’s room, where 
Grace and Emily were both seated — Emily, with her 
work-basket beside her, mending Henry’s gloves, and 
Grace in her accustomed seat by the side of George, 
ministering to his wants. 

shall take my turn sitting up with you to- 
night,” Henry said. shall not have that pleasure 
again very soon.’ 

shall regret it for more reasons than one,” 
George replied. do not like to part with you; 
for I shall miss so much your companionship, and 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


261 


then I fear, when you are gone, I shall not be able to 
do anything with Grace. It takes both of us now to 
compel her to seek the rest she needs. When she is 
left on my hands alone, and I helpless, I don’t know 
how I shall secure obedience.” 

“You must try and take some of the self-conceit 
out of her. She thinks no one can nurse as well as 
she.” 

“If any one takes it out of me,” Grace said, 
“ George will have it to do ; for what self-conceit I 
possess on that score, he imparted to me.” 

“ I plead guilty ; but admitting you to be my best 
nurse, my selfishness would render me unwilling to 
have you wear yourself out at it; for then I should 
be without your services altogether. So you see 
it is my interest to see that you take needful rest.” 

While they were talking, Henry was called out of 
the room, and in a few moments returned and told 
George that he must prepare himself for some good 
news; that his father had arrived in the city, and 
would be in the house in a few minutes. 

“He is in the house now,” said George, impetu- 
ously. “ Let him come in ; and mother is with him, 
I know. She would not have let him come without 
her.” 

In a few moments both parents had the happiness 


262 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


of embracing their son. The journey from their 
home had been a long and dreary one. Ice in the 
upper waters of the Hudson compelled them to take 
the stage. Then a heavy fall of snow blockaded the 
roads, and detained them ; and every hindrance was 
torture to them, for the terrible dread hung over 
them all the way lest they should see the face of their 
son no more. They had received only the one letter, 
and that was written the night that he was injured, 
and before consciousness was restored, so that they 
were not made acquainted with his blessed change. 
Henry had written several times; but as they left 
home immediately after getting the first intelligence 
of his illness, the subsequent letters had passed them 
on the way. 

Their joy on finding their son alive may be 
imagined, but it cannot be described. How was this 
joy enhanced when he told them of God’s gracious 
dealings with him! The mother wept tears of joy 
over her repentant son, whom she found sitting at the 
feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. When 
they became more composed, Mr. Austin picked up 
Grace’s pocket Bible, which was lying on the bed, 
and read detached verses from the Psalms. His rich, 
sonorous voice enunciated Bless the Lord, O my 
soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name.” 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


263 


will sing of the mercies of the Lord forever. 
With my mouth will I make known his faithfulness 
to all generations.’^ 

As he read these passages, the hearts of that little 
band, all of them devout worshipers of Jesus as they 
were, and all beating in perfect unison with each 
other, were ready to exclaim: ^‘Let us put off the 
shoes from our feet, for the place whereon we stand is 
holy ground.” His Bible reading was followed by a 
prayer, earnest and touching and soul-full, such as a 
heart rich in devotion’s choicest strains and overflow- 
ing with grateful thanksgivings would naturally utter 
in addressing him who was the Author of his mercies. 
Every eye was wet with tears of gratitude, and every 
heart was melted, when Mr. Austin uttered the 
Amen” which closed his prayer. Henry continued 
the supplications and thanksgivings, while they all 
still remained kneeling, and glad to prolong the devo- 
tions of the hour, which brought their souls so near 
to heaven’s gate. 

When the impromptu service was over, George had 
a long talk with his parents, telling them all the way 
in which the Lord had led him ; the dark and bitter 
days of his estrangement from the fold of Christ ; the 
vain effort wdiich he made to find pleasure in the 
world ; how hard he tried to trust in Jesus ; and then 


264 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


how simple and easy a thing it was at last. He 
said : 

I could not believe Grace when she kept telling 
me that the Lord stood ready to forgive me, if I 
would only accept his gift. I thought I was trying 
to accept, though I can see now that I was all the 
while trying to work out my own righteousness. As 
soon as I was ready to let go every refuge and cast 
myself on him, the adorable Redeemer, my burden 
fell as suddenly as that of Christian at the cross. 
Now — 

On the incarnate Saviour’s breast, 

The fount of sweetness I can rest, 

My being every hour imbued 
More deeply with his precious blood. 

Sometimes I long for angels’ wings, that I may 
learn the angels’ song, for earth has no notes of praise 
that are worthy of a theme like this ; though some- 
times, when Grace is singing me to sleep, I almost 
fancy it is angel music to which I am listening.” 

think,” said Grace, ‘Gve had better try music 
now, as a sedative, George; for you have talked long 
enough, and we shall not soon have the pleasure of 
hearing sister Emily again, either. Suppose we sing; 

All hail the power of Jesus’ name.” 

They all joined in the song of praise, except 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


265 


George, and, carrying all four parts, made it rich, 
delicious music; then, uniting together in a low vesper 
hymn, plaintive and sweet, they continued the refrain 
until it had the desired effect on Geoige, who slept 
sweetly. 

They all remained together until nearly morning, 
talking and listening to news from home. Grace 
said: 

“I have felt very anxious about mother, for I 
know how she must have missed me; but when 
she gets Henry and Emily back, she will not feel 
my absence so much.’’ 

I sent Henry’s letter to her as soon as I received 
it,” said Mrs. Austin; ^^and sent her word we should 
come down in the next stage, and she must let me 
know if she had any commands. She came over at 
once to see me, and said I must tell you that she was 
getting along very well without you — much better 
than she supposed that she could; and that you 
must not hurry home on her account, but stay as 
long as you desire. She says Annie is a perfect 
treasure to her; that she tries to take your place in 
everything.” 

Henry and Emily left for home the next day. 
On reaching there they went to Mrs. Witherspoon’s, 
to remain with her until Grace should come. Emily 


266 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


spent a part of every day in her new house, having 
carpets fitted, and curtains hung, and furniture ar- 
ranged. She was anxious to be installed as its 
mistress, and assume her new duties. She and 
Henry resumed their old places in the Sunday- 
school, and the choir, and the prayer-meeting, and 
were warmly welcomed back by their associates. 

One evening, after their return from prayer-meet- 
ing, as they were speaking of the kindly greetings 
which had passed between them and their friends, 
Henry said : 

^^Hid you observe the difference between the city 
congregations and ours, in this respect? I noticed in 
all the churches which we attended in New York, 
that the people passed out of the house as if they 
were strangers to each other. If one recognized 
another, it was only by a formal bow; no cordial 
salutations, or hand-shakings, as with us.’^ 

like our custom better,’^ Emily said. ^^It 
seems to bind the church tosrether in a common 
bond.^’ 

I think, Emily, that the Founder of our faith 
had in view the cultivation of fraternal feeling, 
among the members of his church, when he es- 
tablished social worship. This was one of the very 
objects to be promoted by it. Judge Keese told me 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


267 


that, although his church was so large, he did not 
know a dozen members in it, to speak to them; and 
I am satisfied by my own observation that the same 
state of things exists in the other city churches. It 
is, in my judgment, a duty, no less than a privilege, 
to know all our fellow members, and to know them 
well enough to enter into their feelings and sym- 
pathize in their sorrows, and share their joys. 

‘^It is one of the divine commands, ^Bear ye one 
another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.’ 
How can we understand what the burdens of a 
stranger are? It is not the least attractive feature 
of social worship, that it gives us an opportunity 
for social greeting. We meet some of our fellow 
members at church, whom we rarely, if ever, meet 
elsewhere. Some of them are moving in a different 
sphere from ours; some of them, perhaps, below us in 
social standing ; and they are grateful for the words 
of kind Christian greeting which we exchange with 
them ; and they feel that they have a claim upon us, 
if in their necessities they need a friend. 

‘^This interest in all the members, because they 
are members of Christ’s body, must surely have been 
cultivated by the early disciples, and to an extent 
which has never been thought of in our day ; for 
they formed but one family, as it were, making a 


268 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


coramon stock of all their possessions even. The 
church is spoken of, too, in the Bible as a family. 
^Of whom the whole family in heaven and on earth 
is named.^ ‘If one member suffer, all the members 
suffer with it.’ This is true of a family; it ought to 
be true of the church.” 

“ I presume church relations cannot be the same 
in a large city,” Mrs. Witherspoon said. “With a 
numerous and widely scattered membership, and all 
engrossed as they are, each one with his own separate 
interest, it would be next to impossible for them all 
to know each other.” 

“ So much the more reason why they should ex- 
change kindly greetings on the Lord’s Day,” said 
Henry. “ If they are often at church, they must cer- 
tainly learn to know each other by sight, and their 
mutual relations ought to be a sufficient password, 
and supersede the necessity of an introduction.” 

“ I think I should not like to live in Hew York,” 
Emily said, “for many reasons. I certainly should 
not be satisfied to worship in a church week after 
week, and month after month, going in and out with 
the same crowd, and never exchanging a word with 
them.” 


CHAPTER XXyil. 


GEORGE RESOLVES TO LEAVE THE CITY, 

^^R. and Mrs. Austin found accommodations with 
Mrs. Somers, where they could be constantly 
with George. They were soon domesticated in the 
family ; and George’s room, with its cheerful, genial 
inmates, became the most attractive room in the 
house, and drew to it many of his fellow boarders 
Avheu they had a leisure hour. 

Contrary to the opinion of his physician, and to 
his own convictions, he recovered gradually but 
steadily from the effects of his injuries. Bertha Reese 
had returned to the city, and she and her father often 
graced the circle. Mrs. Austin said : 

am afraid I shall get too happy here, and be 
unwilling to go back to my home, and resume its 
cares, which may press heavily after such a respite 
from them as I am having.” 

“Well, suppose we stay here and make it home,” 
Mr. Austin replied, smilingly, “and let the little 
folks that ^Ye left behind us do the best they can 
without us.” 


269 


270 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


without jesting, I am afraid I am not as im- 
patient as I ought to be to get back to them. I feel 
so comfortable here, and I am so happy to be with 
George again ; and, most delightful of all, to feel him 
ours in the strongest and holiest of bonds.^’ 

Then, of course, you will remain, for the present 
at least,^^ said Grace. “And now, please, go down 
town with me this afternoon.^^ 

“ 'No” said George, “ I do not want either you or 
mother to go.’’ 

“Why, George? If you will give us a good reason, 
you know we will heed it.” 

“If I tell you, you will think me weak and 
cowardly.” 

“A reason from such motives is not worth heeding.” 

“ Grace, if you must have it. It is too far for you 
to walk, and you must not ride. I cannot bear it. 
What if you should ” — and he covered his face 
with his hands, as if to shut out the horrible picture 
of what befell them when they last rode out together. 
“Oh, Grace, it would be terrible if you should be 
thrown from the carriage, and injured as I have 
been, and suffer what I have had to ! A nd it might be 
worse than this; it might take your life, as it would 
have done mine but for your prayers. I beg that 
you and mother will not go.” 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


271 


‘'Why, my son,” his mother said, "this is un- 
worthy of you. Our lives are every hour in peril. 
Danger lurks not alone in horses. It stands at every 
foot-crossing as well — it haunts the door of every 
house — a false step might precipitate us upon the 
pavement, or down the staircase, and cost us our 
lives. It seats itself with us at the table. The food 
we eat may be God’s messenger to call us hence. 
Our lives are not safe one moment, only as the 
protecting care of our God is over us to shield us. 
You know we shall be obliged to ride on our way 
home, day after day.” 

"But I shall be with you then, and I cannot now. 
That will make a difference.” 

" Think you that your presence will protect us ? ” 

" No, mother. But I could share the danger.” 

" If Mrs. Austin is willing, George, we will walk,” 
Grace said. " When you regain your strength, and 
your nerves have their accustomed powers of en- 
durance, you will overcome this Aveakness.” 

This, after a few more words, Avas agreed to. 

After they left, George had a long conversation 
Avith his father in reference to his future. He said: 

"I Avant your advice, father, as to Avhere I had best 
locate. Judge Reese has renewed to me his offers of 
a partnership in his business. My engagement with 


272 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


him, which has only been renewed from year to year, 
a twelvemonth at a time, as you know, will soon 
expire by limitation, and I am undecided whether 
to locate here for life or to return with you.” 

^^Does Judge Reese make you the same favorable 
offer which he did last year?” 

^^His offer is in some respects more favorable. He 
purposes to give me a half interest in all the business 
of the office, and beside this to give me the sole 
management of a certain class of cases which may 
be submitted to him, and the sole profits arising from 
such cases. The judge is getting old, and wants to 
spare himself from work. He is rich enough, and 
has but the one child to inherit his possessions.” 

It is easy enough, George, to see where your 
interest is. It is to stay here. You would make 
more money here in one year than you would with 
me in three or four.” 

Well, father, there is another view to be taken of 
this matter. I should be obliged to spend so much 
more here than I should there. Living here as 
a single man, the drain on my income has not been 
heavy. But when I marry, it would require at 
least three or four times the amount to maintain 
us suitably here. This would probably leave my 
net profits not much larger at the end of the year 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


273 


than they would be if I were with you. But I trust 
I realize, father, that my life has not been prolonged 
to me solely that I might make money, or spend it. 
I have been brought to the very verge of the grave, 
and the Lord has graciously raised me up again, and 
I desire to begin a new life — to live with different 
motives and objects in life from what I have been 
doing. I wish to fix the bounds of my habitation 
where I can be most useful in the world, and labor 
to the best advantage in promoting the interests of 
Christ’s kingdom. It seems to me that this would 
be in my own native village, where I was born and 
raised. I think my influence would be greater there 
than anywhere else. There, where I have helped to 
lead others astray, I would like to try now to lead 
them in the paths of righteousness. Where every- 
body knows me, and where I know everybody, it 
seems to me I coiild exert a large influence for good. 
It would accord very much more with my inclination 
too, to live near you. It would be very pleasant 
to be together once more, and I think this would be 
Grace’s preference ; but she does not say so.” 

^^You ought to consult with Grace about it. She 
has an equal interest in it with yourself now; and it 
is your duty to make your arrangements with refer- 
ence to her comfort as well as your own ; and in 
s 


274 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


doing so you will find that you promote your 
own.’^ 

have talked with her, father, more than once; 
and begged lier to advise me, but she will not even 
express a preference. She says it will be her pleasure 
to go wherever my interest and my duty lead me.^’ 
Grace is a girl of a thousand, George. I thought 
I had the highest possible opinion of her, when 
I knew her at home; but since I have been thrown 
into such intimate relations with her as I have of 
late, l>eing with her every day, and all hours of the 
day, new graces and charms have developed them- 
selves in her. A Christian is the highest style of 
man or woman ; and she is such a high-toned Chris- 
tian. I have watched her closely, and I think she 
subjects every act of her life to the scrutiny of her 
conscience before she performs it.’^ 

I have long known her worth,’’ George said. “ I 
know it as no one else does; for her heart has always 
opened to me more fully than to any one else. I 
have known it too to my sorrow; for she was too 
good and pure to link lier life witli mine, when I was 
living in disobedience to God, although I plead with 
her to share ease and plenty with me when the alter- 
native was toil and privation and poverty ; and she 
chose the latter because it was her duty.” 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


275 


I suppose you will connect yourself with the 
church, George, as soon as you are able to go out.’’ 

Not here, father. I prefer doing that at home. 
It shall be my first act when I get there. If I im- 
prove as rapidly for the next week or two as during 
the last, I shall be able to travel so as to be at home 
by the third Sunday in next month, which will be 
Mr. Brown’s regular day. You will none of you 
help me to a decision about a home. I believe I 
shall decide for myself, to leave the city for good 
when I go, and settle down for life in my native 
town.” 

“ That is what I would prefer you to do, and it is 
your mother’s choice, of course ; and I think it would 
be the choice of Grace also, particularly on account of 
her mother. She is devoted to her mother, who would 
neither feel that it was desirable in her to change 
her home at her age, nor wish to be separated from 
Grace. If you decide upon this course, I suppose 
you will defer your marriage until you build a house, 
that you may have a home to take your bride to.” 

I shall not defer it one hour longer than she com- 
pels me to. I have been trying to persuade her to 
have it solemnized before we leave here, but I cannot 
get her consent. She promised me in the early part 
of my illness that if I got well enough to be carried 


276 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


home, and you and mother were not here to go with 
me, that she would be married before we started, that 
she might take care of me on my way up. But now 
that you are with me, she says there is no necessity 
for this, and she prefers waiting until she gets home. 

I have never thought of it until this moment, 
father, but I should not be surprised if I could buy 
the Witherspoon place for our home. Has it ever 
been sold, or is it still held by Mr. Jenkins’ cred- 
itors ? ” 

Those same parties' still hold it. It has been 
rented out a part of the time, but it is vacant now. 
I dare say it could be bought, and that would be just 
the home for you. It has been badly abused, both 
the house and the grounds. I presume the furniture 
is good. They tried to sell it, but could not dispose 
of any but the common articles. There are few in 
our place who want such fine furniture. Then they 
stored it in two rooms in the house, and reserved 
them in renting. The house and furniture were ad- 
vertised for sale for some time; but I have not 
noticed the advertisement lately, and think it is out 
of the paper.” 

‘‘I wish you would go and see those men to- 
morrow, and learn if the property can be bought. 
We will not tell Grace anything about it, but surprise 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


277 


her if we are able to get it. I have one other com- 
mission for you, father. I want you to purchase a 
new piano for Grace, the best one you can find, and 
have it boxed and shipped at once, that it may meet 
us when we get home. The sooner it could be sent 
the better, as I notice the papers say that the floating 
ice is gone now, and the river navigable again ; and it 
cannot remain so long at this season of the year.^^ 

But Grace has a piano, and no one but herself in 
the family to need it.’^ 

Henry bought that and paid for it, and had hard 
work to do it too. He was not able to meet the note 
which he gave for it when it became due, and was 
obliged to renew it, and compound the interest. 
Now I want him to have it for Emily. He was 
anxious to buy one for her wdien he was here pur- 
chasing his furniture, and had it on his memorandum, 
but found his money fall short, he had so many other 
things to buy, and Avas obliged to do Avithout that. 
It Avill be a great pleasure to Grace’s benevolent heart 
to give it to Emily. I will get you to have a settle- 
ment AAuth Judge Eeese for me too, so that just as 
soon as the doctor says I am able to travel, there will 
be nothing to prevent us from leaving.” 


CHAPTEK XXVIII. 


A GREAT SURPRISE FOR GRACE. 

1\TRS. AUSTIN and Grace came back from 
Bonfante’s loaded with toys and trinkets and 
gifts to take home with them. Grace bought quire a 
little supply of wonderful things for Annie, and a 
trifle for each of her little pupils. She had also pur- 
chased suitable gifts for her mother and Miss Fitch, 
thinking she would not go out again while in the 
city; but she was obliged to go once more. 

Judge Reese had been very attentive to Grace 
during all her stay in the city, and to Mr. and Mrs. 
Austin as well, coming frequently to see them, and 
bringing his daughter and his friends to call on them, 
placing his carriage at their disposal, and extending 
such courtesies to Mr. Austin as a gentleman who is a 
stranger in a large city can well appreciate. He in- 
sisted that before they left New York they should 
spend an evening at his house, with a party of friends 
whom he would invite to meet them, on any day they 
would name, giving him time to make the necessary 
preparations for guests. 

278 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


279 


They waited until George was well enough to go 
with them, and consequently until almost the last 
moment before their departure. Grace, as well as 
Mrs. Austin, were dazzled by the magnificence of the 
entertainment. Though both were too thoroughly 
well bred to be otherwise than self-possessed in any 
company, yet neither of them before had any concep- 
tion of how brilliant an assemblage of pleasure- 
seekers could be, in a large, gay city, in a mansion 
where fashion held unbounded sway, and wealth was 
scattered with lavish hand. They could compare it 
to nothing but a scene from fairy land. When they 
returned from the party to their boarding house, late 
as the hour was, they sat together for some time dis- 
cussing the scenes and events of the evening. 

I am free to confess,’^ said Mr. Austin, “ that I 
enjoyed myself most in the supper room. I think 
those splendidly arranged flowers, with their rich 
odors, had an appetizing tendency, though the appe- 
tite must have been fastidious indeed that could not 
be suited there ; for there was nothing in the way of 
edibles but what was to be found on the tempting 
board. The luxuries of every zone contributed to the 
entertainment. Everything, too, was so splendidly 
prepared, and so artistically arranged and adorned.’^ 

I was interested,’’ said Mrs. Austin, most in 


280 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


admiring the rich fabrics which were worn, the jewels 
and ornaments, and the skill of the dressmakers and 
hairdressers, exhibited in the exquisite taste and 
adaptation of costume and coiifure and ornaments to 
figure and complexion. With regard to almost all 
who were there, there seemed to be a peculiar fitness 
about their attire. Even our dear Grace, country 
girl that she is, was so becomingly dressed. Nothing 
could have been in better taste than that peach 
colored silk, with its fall of rich lace about the neck 
and arms, and the natural flowers in the hair; but it 
formed a strong contrast to the flounces and furbe- 
lows, feathers and spangles and diamonds, with which 
many were adorned. 

Grace was the best dressed lady in the room,” 
George said ; and I was not the only one who 
thought so either. Bertha Reese, who is authority 
in such matters, said that her dress was exquisite in 
its simplicity.” 

learned before to-night,” Grace remarked, ^^that 
Bertha Reese loves to flatter you, and now she has 
learned your vulnerable point. She thinks the best 
way to do it is to praise me. For what taste there 
was about my dress I am indebted to the modiste who 
made it, and to your mother, who purchased it. I 
hope you will be as well satisfied with all her pur- 


GEOKGE AUSTIN. 


281 


chases ; for I gave her the check which brother sent 
me for my bridal outfit, and I asked her to spend it 
for me. I have been too busy taking care of you to 
attend to it.’^ 

Father and mother have both told/^ George said, 

what was most gratifying to them ; what I enjoyed 
most was listening to the compliments I heard paid to 
Grace, and seeing people crowd around for an intro- 
duction to her.’^ 

‘^So now the subject is exhausted,^^ said Grace, 
abruptly. Good-night,^’ and left the room. 

It was midwinter when our party left for home ; 
but they were all in such admirable spirits that they 
were oblivious to every feeling of discomfort. Mr. 
and Mrs. Austin were glad to be on their way back 
to their home and children, and to take George back 
with them, well once more, snatched as it were from 
the verge of the grave, and with a new song in his 
mouth, even praise to the Most High. George and 
Grace felt so happy in each other that nothing earthly, 
in the way of difficulties and discomforts, could have 
disturbed their serenity. 

At the hotel in Albany, while Grace was waiting 
for the rest to finish their breakfast, she picked up 
the morning paper, and the first paragraph on which 
her eye rested was an announcement of the death of 


282 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 




Mr. Woodford. He had jumped from a window in 
the third story of a building in a fit of delirium 
tremens, and dashed his brains out. She shuddered 
at his terrible end, the more dreadful that he was no 
loss to himself, to his child, nor to the world. 

They were all received home with a joyous wel- 
come. Annie was perfectly overjoyed at seeing Grace 
again. She seated herself on a little stool at her feet, 
and, gazing up into her face, drank in every word 
that fell from her lips. Grace had, of course, much 
to tell her mother of what had transpired since they 
separated. She told Annie of the death of her father, 
though she refrained from giving her full particulars, 
only saying that she had seen it in a newspaper. 
Poor child I Is it to be wondered at that the news 
gave her no sadness, only a sense of relief? 

Grace’s old pupils gathered around her as soon as 
the news spread through the village that she had re- 
turned. They all had a kindly welcome for her, and 
were highly pleased with the tokens of remembrance 
she had brought them, and expressed great regret 
when she told them that she did not intend to teach 
any more. Henry decided that as Grace’s marriage 
was to take place so soon, they would remain where 
they were until it was consummated, though their 
own house was in perfect readiness for them. 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


283 


A few days after Grace returned home, as she was 
seated at the tea-table one evening, she said : 

George and I passed by our old home this even- 
ing as we were walking out. It has been beautifully 
fitted up and repainted, and looked so attractive and 
so much like its old self, that it almost brought tears 
to my eyes. George said that it looked very natural. 
I told him it was so very natural that I felt like go- 
ing in the gate. He said we could go in if I wished, 
as there was no one there but some laborers who were 
cleaning out the yard. We went in, and I cannot 
tell you what pleasant memories were awakened by 
the sight of the dear, familiar place. It has been put 
in perfect order, and the same furniture is in it, and 
in the same places where it used to stand.’^ 

I understand,^’ Henry said, “ the property has 
been bought by a gentleman from New York, and he 
is expected to move into it soon with his bride.” 

Has he bought the furniture too ? ” 

He has bought everything.” 

I have always hoped,” Grace said, with an air of 
disappointment, that I might be able to buy back 
some of that furniture. That in mother’s room par- 
ticularly. I am afraid that I covet it. Her room 
looks as natural as if she had just stepped out of it. 
Who is it that has bought the property ? ” 


284 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


A young man from New York ; a lawyer, I 
learned.” 

He cannot be much of a lawyer, or he would not 
leave New York to come here. He would want a 
larger field for the exercise of his talents than this 
little town.” 

Henry and Emily burst into a merry laugh; in 
which Mrs. Witherspoon joined. Grace looked up in 
amazement at them, not knowing what she could 
have said to produce such merriment. 

^‘We know one young lawyer,” said her mother, 
^Svho has just done that very thing. Why should 
not another ? ” 

Just imagine what sister would say,” Henry re- 
marked, she heard any one applying such re- 
marks to George.” 

^^Oh, but that is different,” exclaimed Grace. 

The next Saturday was the regular conference 
meetings of the church. Every member of both 
families was present. It was to them a day of days, 
for George was to offer himself once more as a candi- 
date for membership. When the church extended 
the invitation to any who desired to enter her com- 
munion to present themselves, George went forward. 
The circumstances of his case, familiar as they were 
to every member, made it unnecessary for them to ask 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


285 


him for a letter. All knew that he had burned the 
one he took from them years before. His situation 
was a peculiar one, and a motion was made that he 
should be requested to relate his Christian experience. 

He stated to them that with the early part of that 
experience they were familiar. He would begin with 
the hour of his departure from God. He spoke of 
his temptations, and the careless ease with which he 
yielded to them ; of his gradual and ever widening 
estrangement from God ; of his eiforts to maintain a 
holy life, while he was virtually denying the Saviour; 
of the long and bitter period of darkness which 
ensued, when not a ray of hope entered his beclouded 
mind ; of the months and years which he had passed, 
never free from the goadiugs of conscience, only when 
he could succeed in drowning them temporarily in 
some passing pleasure. His recital was eloquent and 
fervid, and every heart was moved. He was not 
only unanimously, but cordially and gratefully, wel- 
comed back among them, and a prayer of thanks- 
giving was offered for the return of the wanderer. 

The next day, when the pastor extended to him in 
the name and on behalf of the church the right hand 
of fellowship, in the solemn and affecting charge 
which he gave him, the tears streamed down his aged 
cheeks, and were responded to by answering tears, 


286 


GEOEGE AUSTIN. 


not only on the face of George, but on many others 
in that assembly. 

Mr. Brown remained in the village until Tuesday, 
to marry George and Grace. They were to be mar- 
ried in the church edifice at eleven o’clock in the 
morning, and go back to Mrs. Witherspoon’s to 
dinner, where Grace was to have her trunk ready 
packed to put on to the carriage after dinner, and go 
home with George. She had insisted that it was better 
for them to remain at her home, as her mother could 
not be left alone, and she wanted to release Henry 
and Emily. He said that she must go with him for 
a short time, at least, when he would make definite 
arrangements which should include her mother. 

There was a large party at the dining-room, who 
were all invited soon after dinner to escort the bride 
and groom home. Their carriage led the way. It 
was not strange that Grace did not notice in what 
direction they were going. She did not observe but 
that they were on their way to Mr. Austin’s, until the 
carriage stopped at the gate of her own old home. 

“This is our home, my darling,” George said to 
her. “Does it suit you?” 

In a moment the truth flashed before her. The 
lawyer from New York with his bride, and the sig- 
nificance of the merry laugh which Henry and Emily 


GEORGE AUSTIN. 


287 


had indulged in. She was too full to restrain her- 
self. She rushed into the house, and up to her own 
little study, and, locking the door, was on her knees in 
a moment. She wept such grateful, blessed, happy 
tears. She consecrated herself anew to God. She 
sought his blessing on their mutual ties. She prayed 
that every apartment in her dear home might be 
redolent of God’s presence, and ever vocal with his 
praise ; and she was down-stairs again ere half the 
company had alighted, almost before she had been 
missed, and gracefully submitted herself to her brides- 
maids to have bonnet and gloves removed. 

George’s mother presided that evening over the 
entertainment which had been made ready for the 
guests. They sat down to the table which was the 
very same Mrs. Witherspoon had used in former 
days, the same china and glass ; everything looked as 
it did of old. Mrs. Witherspoon and Grace would 
have felt too happy for earth, but that the dark 
shadow of the dead rose before them, and the memory 
of the lost husband and father tempered their joy. 

Before the party separated, George asked Mr. 
Brown to dedicate the house to God, which he did, 
in his peculiarly solemn and impressive manner. 
When the guests departed, Henry and Emily went to 
their own home and took possession of it; and Miss 


288 GEORGE AUSTIN. 

Fitch returned alone to the dwelling which Mrs. 
Witherspoon had occupied, to take charge of it until 
the furniture could be removed. Grace was delighted 
with her new piano, and even more still with the 
pleasure of giving one to Emily. She was glad vfhen 
the last carriage went away and they were left to 
themselves; when, seizing George by the hand, she 
explored every nook and corner of the dear old place, 
in doors and out, with almost childish joy. 

Her countenance had lost its careworn, anxious 
look. The happiness of the last few months had 
lent roundness to her figure, and bloom to her face. 
Annie followed her round in a state of perfect delight. 
Grace pointed out to her spots consecrated to her by 
early recollections. 

There used to be my swing; and here my play 
house ; and that was my little garden spot. It shall 
be yours now, Annie.” 

They did not go into the house until the darkness 
drove them. Nor did they seek repose until George 
had devoutly installed himself as the head of a 
Christian household by establishing family prayer. 
He. dedicated himself, his wife, and his home to the 
Lord his God. 


THE END. 





























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